


Rock Bottom

by MobiAblackout



Category: Eminem (Musician), Hip Hop RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Homeless, Amnesia, Developing Relationship, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:54:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22598902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MobiAblackout/pseuds/MobiAblackout
Summary: Em is an enigma, Marshall is a mystery.
Relationships: Eminem/Royce da 5'9"
Comments: 58
Kudos: 95





	1. The Rules to The Game

The object of life is the fleeting joy of a need fulfilled. That spark of happiness when something inside of you has been placated. It's what everyone looks for, the next need, and the next way to be satisfied. Yet satisfaction is an illusion. There is only a brief moment when everything is perfect. A few scant seconds when happiness, when satisfaction is sustained, then the next need becomes pressing, and you're driven onwards once more. Ryan's used to that drive, is used to being driven by his needs, is more than used to seeing others driven by their needs.

The World is changing, and changing for the worst. At least that's the way Ryan sees it. People are growing more selfish, more driven by their own needs, and less concerned with finding satisfaction in fulfilling the needs of others. There are a few left, but they're so rare that they've almost become like white whales in an ocean of sharks. The slightest drop of blood in the water draws them all into a feeding frenzy, every one of them drawn to get their pound of flesh. The World is growing more selfish. The World is growing more self-obsessed. The World is growing more narcissistic, and frustrates Ryan endlessly.

When he was younger, his life had been easier. Still horribly difficult, and brutally unpleasant, but it had been easier. He'd been a cute kid if nothing else. His mother had taken advantage of that. In his youth, people had given generously to a child beggar, but now they scurry past him and his little paper cup without a backward glance. It might be that he's not bathed in a few days, it might be the fact that his eye's swollen shut from a fight he lost, it might be that he's chosen a bad pitch, but he's not seen a nickel all day, and it's got him feeling existential.

Living on the streets gives you a lot of time to think. It's something Ryan's always appreciated about his life. He'd like to think he's given more thought to the human condition than the scurrying Starbucks obsessed masses. He's not hyped up on too much sugar and caffeine, so he's clear to see the World for what it is, and what it is, is nothing more than a bad joke. It's not that he thinks his status of no fixed abode is a particularly good one. Quite the opposite, if there's one thing Ryan would be truly grateful for, it's an abode, but he sees the futility of the people rushing around him, not sparing a glance in his direction.

There is a system in Ryan's life. A system that he's followed for as long as he can remember. A system that's kept him alive if nothing else. He's been sitting on this particular piece of sidewalk at this particular time for a week now. It's part of his system, his order of haunts to try his luck at begging. Here near the subway for morning peak hours, downtown for the lunchtime rush, back to the subway for the evening commute, a system he's thought out carefully to try and maximize his potential earnings. In this particular spot, he's seen the same faces for a week, and he can tell they're no happier with their lives than he is with his own. Sure, they look at him with pity, sure guilt sometimes forces them to drop a dime in his cup, but for the most part his presence makes them feel better about themselves.

At least I'm not that guy.

If he could read minds he's sure that's what they'd all be thinking, but in honesty, it's what he thinks of them. At least he's not rushing to a job he hates, to get money to pay for an apartment that's too small to house the family he doesn't care about. More money, more problems. It's always been Ryan's philosophy. He's never seen rich people who are any happier than he is. People are always looking for the next need to fulfil. His poverty, his homelessness makes his needs more simplistic. His needs are easy to define, and in theory easy to meet. If only the scurrying masses would drop him a nickel every so often.

"This is my spot." Ryan glances up at the voice. Thick accent, a little rough, a little tired, and unfamiliar.

"I didn't see your name on it." Ryan shrugs, and studies the man in front of him, ignoring the way some people are staring at them, hoping for a fight, hoping for something to post on YouTube or Twitter, something to garner them hits and maybe a spot on local news.

"It's right there." The man smirks, and points behind Ryan's head, to the crudely scrawled Eminem on the wall.

"Eminem? That's not a name." Ryan mutters, and the man in front of him laughs. He looks like he's been on the streets a while, not as long as Ryan, but long enough to know that duct tape is your friend, long enough to know that trimming a beard is a good idea if you wear one, and Ryan is beginning to get one. He's going to have to try and find a spot at a shelter for the night soon, he needs to shave at the very least, and shelters usually have free razors.

"It's my name." The man looks oddly pained, his hand coming up to rub at his forehead, pushing the beanie on his head up slightly, letting Ryan catch a glimpse of a long, white scar.

"Eminem? Odd name." Ryan shrugs, unwilling to surrender the spot, unwilling to change the system. "You've not been here in a week. It's my spot now, Eminem." Ryan smirks, but all he does is sit beside him, setting his own cup down. A scurrying person drops a quarter in it as she hurries to her train, and Ryan glances over at him, a slight smile on his lips.

"She always gives me a quarter... Fixed her shoe once." He shrugs, and Ryan holds back an irritated sigh. Eminem seems like a nice, decent guy, there's a story behind him, and Ryan's more than little certain if he stays in Eminem's company too long he'll end up being told the whole tale.

A few more quarters land in Eminem's cup, a few of the scurriers makes enquiries as Eminem's health. This is his pitch, and Ryan should move on. It's probably why he's been getting so little in this spot. People get attached to their tragedies. They get used to their homeless guy, and when a new one shows up, they're resentful because it interrupts their narrative. People are only concerned with themselves, and they like the scenery in their stories only to change on their whim. People like Ryan aren't people in the eyes of the scurriers, they're like pigeons with more recognizable faces. Some scurriers feed pigeons, some shoo them away, and others would shoot them on sight if it were socially acceptable, the same applies to the homeless.

"Aren't you the nice one?" Ryan doesn't look at Eminem, but he can feel a smirk being aimed at him, can feel something like human interaction, and he's not sure he can really remember how that feels.

"When I want to be." He chuckles, and offers a thank you to the man that drops a dollar in his cup. The note is quickly taken out of the cup, and stashed somewhere on Eminem's person. You never leave a note in the cup, you never leave too much change, and you never have nothing in it. A note makes people think you're doing fine, it might only be a dollar, but that won't stop them from thinking it's a hundred. You never have too many coins in the cup for the same reason, and you never have none because the scurriers like to hear the sound of their contribution to your meagre existence. It makes them feel like they're doing their good deed for the day, and that's important to them.

They spend maybe an hour at the station entrance, not talking, not acknowledging each other, before he stands once more, and Ryan, at loss for anything better to do, stands as well.

"I'm Ryan, by the way." He offers, but Eminem only nods distractedly, stashing his change in various little pockets hidden in his thick layers.

"Uh-huh... I'm Em, nice to meet you." He mumbles, and starts walking away, heading for a larger station up the street.

"Hey, wait up." Ryan chases after him, not really sure why, but knowing he's not quite willing to return to his own thoughts just yet. He might not want to hear Em's story, but he's not ready to be stuck with his own right then. A little company never did any harm, at least when it's simply companionship.

"Look... Neither of us are going to get anything if we're together. It looks bad... Two women are okay, a man and a woman, a man and a dog, all okay, but two men is too threatening." Em states calmly once they arrive at the larger station, and Ryan nods, knowing Em's right. There are two exits, one on the left, one on the right, if they divvy it up; they'll both get a little.

"I'll go left." Ryan smiles slightly, and Em nods vaguely, starting to walk to his door.

"Hey... Uh... Look, in a couple of hours... There's a place. We can get something to eat, if you wanna?" He looks desperately uncomfortable, and Ryan supposes he doesn't much wanna be alone either. Sometimes it's better to be alone on the streets, sometimes though you need someone there. Even if you don't know that person, even if they'd stolen your pitch, you need to know that there's a person there with you. Human contact, genuine human contact not marred by pity, or comparison, the warmth of a person who knows, who understands, and generally doesn't care. It's what everyone is looking for really, scurrier or homeless.

"Cool. Thanks man, I appreciate it." Ryan smiles, and Em nods, shuffling to his spot setting himself up. Ryan follows suit, and waits to see if this will be a more successful spot for him.

A few hours, and thankfully several coins, later, Em comes shuffling over to Ryan. He looks strangely tired, even more tired than he had looked earlier, wobbling slightly even though he's standing still.

"You taking something?" It's the most obvious answer to Ryan's mind. An addict is often on the streets, an addict would look so pale, and weak after sitting for so long, an addict would need another hit.

"Drugs?, No" Em sneers.

"Then what's wrong?" Ryan slips an arm around Em's waist, mildly surprised by how slight he is. He's not as tall as Ryan but tall enough, and his waist is so narrow underneath all of the layers. He can't have been eating too well lately even by homeless standards he's skinny.

"Nothing... This way." Em starts walking, slowly, mostly shuffling in all honesty, and Ryan matches his pace, ignoring the looks, ignoring the jeers, ignoring the fact he knows all of the scurriers think that they're drunk.

"Where we headed?" Ryan asks once they're away from the plaza outside the station, and making their way down a quiet street.

"To the back of a deli." Em smiles at him, and steps away. "Thanks... I... Sometimes I'm a little..." Em shakes his head, and Ryan nods slightly, not too sure what to say. Sometimes you need to keep your secrets to yourself, sometimes you can reveal too much, and lose the little you have.

They make their way along the street in silence, turning into an alleyway. Em leans against a wall, and Ryan hovers beside him waiting.

"Hey Em! How's it going my man?" A young man comes out of the back of the deli, in his hands is a loaf of more than likely stale bread, and a half empty bottle of soda. Em smiles at the man, and Ryan glances between them. "You forget my name again? Em... Man... If I didn't know better, I'd be offended." He hands Em the food and drink, getting a grateful smile from him in return.

"I remember your face just fine." Em's smile fades, and the man nods vaguely, staring at Ryan.

"Who's your friend?" He asks, his eyes flicking over Ryan, then back to Em. Ryan isn't sure if he should say his name or trust Em to give it to him. Em tears the bread in half, clearly stalling for time.

"Uh..." Em turns to Ryan, holding out half of the loaf, a slightly lost look on his face.

"I'm Ryan." Ryan offers his name to the man, and is mildly confused by the hand that's offered to him. He can't quite remember the last time someone shook his hand.

"Ryan... Good name, man. Em'll forget it, but it's a good name." The man laughs, and Em shrugs, as though fully accepting the inevitability of his forgetting. "So... Em, where you been? Ain't seen you around in a few weeks... You been doing okay?" The man sounds genuinely concerned, and Em nods, clearly unwilling to divulge his business. Either because he doesn't want this man to know it, or he doesn't want Ryan to.

"I'm alright... Surviving." Em offers with a smile, and the man laughs.

"Yeah... Ain't we all?" His smile dies slowly, his eyes skimming over Em's face carefully. "You're looking thin again, you been remembering to eat? If you're his friend, you gotta make sure he remembers to eat." The man turns to Ryan, his eyes narrowed. "Crazy bastard forgets." He laughs, his tone fond. He's clearly a friend of Em's and Ryan's not entirely sure what he is to the odd man he's been following all morning.

"I'll watch that." Ryan takes a bite of the bread, and is surprised to find it's not as stale as he'd expected. It's not fresh but it's not a brick, and it actually tastes pretty good.

"So... My cousin's got a shipment coming to his restaurant tonight, might be a couple of bucks in it if you're interested?" The man's turned back to Em, staring at him as though willing him to say yes.

"Uh-huh? Where?" Em nods, sipping at the soda, and then passing the bottle over to Ryan.

"You know Rufus? Big belly, with a tat on his face-"

"On his right cheek, about my height?" Em asks, and the man nods. "His place is like two blocks down... The fancy Italian one?"

"That's the one. You might be shit with names, but Jesus, if the cops ever need a description; you're the man to go to... Makes me terrified to ask how you remember me." At this Em laughs, and takes his first bite of the bread.

"You'd stop feeding me if I told you." Em laughs, and the man snorts. "What time?"

"Bout seven... You taking your new friend? Tell Rufus that Denaun sent you over. He'll know Em, or Em'll know him, but you know it's best to have names." Ryan nods, he's pretty sure he'll be sticking with Em at least on the off-chance of getting money, a couple of dollars is better than nothing.

"Sure thing." Ryan nods, tapping Em's arm with the bottle of soda, Em takes it from him, but doesn't drink just yet.

"Cool. Right man, I gotta get going. I'll let Joey know you'll be over, Em, and that you're bringing a friend. I'm sure he'll have something to fatten you up." The man, Denaun Ryan supposes, smiles at Em, getting a slight nod, and a vague smile in return. "You take care till then." He heads back into the deli, and Ryan stares over at Em.

"I helped him out once... He needed money for a cab home." Em mutters, taking a sip of the soda, and sighs. "He's a good guy." Em shrugs, and hands Ryan the bottle. "C'mon... Let's get outta here. His boss doesn't like me hanging around, says I bring down the tone of the place." Ryan laughs, and follows along behind Em.

"You really are nice when you want to be, aren't you?" Ryan bumps Em's shoulder lightly.

"Yeah..." He sounds confused, and is rubbing his forehead once more.

"Hey... What's up with your head anyways?" It's not uncommon for the homeless to be sick, there's more than a few legitimate crazies on the streets, more than a few physically, and mentally disabled people out there. The sort of people the scurriers don't want to have to worry about, so they're tossed out like garbage.

"Nothing... I just forget things." Em snaps, and levels Ryan with the sort of look that says the conversation is closed.

"Alright." Ryan holds his hands up, offering his surrender, showing he's not going to push the matter. He doesn't much care about Em's story, for now, he's a good companion, not overly chatty, and that suits Ryan just fine. He likes silence, likes being lost in his thoughts. "I've got a pretty sweet spot downtown, if you wanna..." Ryan leaves the offer open, and Em turns to him, a hint of confusion in his eyes. "There's one of those trendy coffee shops where they let people buy coffees to keep on tap for people like us." Ryan explains, and Em nods, falling into step with Ryan. "It's ain't too far from here, so we can make it back for seven easy."

"Yeah... Sure." Em sighs, and Ryan glances over at him. "I'm sorry... What was your name again?" Ryan laughs, and Em frowns over at him. "If we're hanging out I should try and remember."

"Don't worry about it. I'll write it up by yours tomorrow." Ryan laughs, and Em snorts in amusement. Silence follows them for a while, but Ryan can't help but want to know a little about his companion. He's not had one in so long, and it seems rude not to enquire a little. Em strikes Ryan as the type of guy who has a list of people Ryan can benefit from, and he's not above using his odd new friend to make fulfilling his needs a little easier. "So... What other nice stuff you done?"


	2. Vanishing Without a Trace

Apathy is an affliction that the World of the scurriers suffers from greatly. They live in a fog of apathy, greedily consuming without ever giving back. There is no recompense given to those who give to them. There is no reward to be gained from the scurriers. They consume. They devour. They're a plague of locusts that destroy everything in their path. They're consummate in the art of being socially connected without ever being part of a society. There is no society in the lives of those who scurry. They have nothing that connects them to the people around them. They have Facebook, and Twitter, and Instagram, but they are solely connected to their cell phones. Eyes fixated on a small screen, never seeing what's around them. They measure their worth in their hits, they take pride in being so connected to everyone in the World, but never once do they stop to realize that they're merely spewing what's in their tepid minds out into a vast basin of tepid thought. Anything too cold, or too hot is rejected. They live in a Goldilocks' zone where everything is just right for them. Everything else is discarded. Though in all honesty, as Ryan sees it, in the World of the scurriers everything is disposable.

Gentrification, urban renewal, discovering undiscovered parts of the city, and modernizing them. What the scurriers mean by that is taking the streets from the people they once belonged to, and turning them into the same bland strip mall, coffee shop hell that every other city Ryan has ever passed through has. He's seen enough cities to know that slowly but surely, they'll all be the same, carbon copies of one another, homogenized into one grey, pulpy mass of the Goldilocks' zone, fill with homogenized people, a cell phone in one hand, and a Starbucks cup in the other. There's no room for people like him in these cities, no place for people like Eminem either.

Em is an interesting quandary for him. Ryan's not a friends kind of guy. People fall neatly into one of three categories for him. The scurriers, busy with their lives, occasionally giving him a handout to make themselves feel better. The white whales, genuine philanthropists, motivated by some honest goodness, and the other homeless. Ryan has acquaintances amongst the homeless, but he doesn't have friends. If he ever had friends, he left them behind lifetimes ago, because in some ways he's like the scurriers. There are some things that Ryan consumes, and the kindness, the friendship of others is one of those things.

Em is different though. He doesn't fit into the nice neat categories of people, because Ryan's seen him do things to make it seem like he's one of those honestly good people. He helps where he can. That first day they'd spent together, Em had explained everyone who had helped them, who had given them something, was doing it because of something he gave them, some kind of aide or service he'd rendered that had left those people in his debt. Yet, Em's on the streets, he'd very much part of the homeless. Em's a riddle, and Ryan's fond of considering riddles. Riddles are something he's fascinated by. Life is one big riddle, and no matter how long Ryan considers it, he's never sure he's got it solved. Just when he thinks he's got life all figured out, he'll read another article in the library, and his thoughts will morph to include this new idea. He's not been to the library in a while, and he's sure that there'll be all kinds of new and interesting research to peruse once he visits again.

He and Em spend several weeks in each other's company. Em's complete inability to remember Ryan's name is something that's slowly beginning to intrigue him. Every day, several times a day, Em asks him his name, and Ryan tells him. He's almost tempted to tell him different names to see if one will stick, but he doesn't for fear of Em remember something like Barbara McCunt-Cookie, and then introducing him to people as such. So every time Ryan repeats his name, and every time Em nods after repeating it a few times, and every time Em forgets. It's almost depressing, but there's a comfort in the routine that Ryan's come to appreciate.

Em is a man of routine. The time they've spent together has followed Em's system, and Ryan's grown fond of it. Em's got a good thing going here, but he's so steeped in a strange kind of mystery. He's never explained where he was for the week Ryan had filled his morning pitch. He's never offered a single drop of information regarding his scar, or his forgetfulness, or his occasional bouts of wobbliness. He never comments, and Ryan thinks that asking would be unwelcome to say the very least. He'd like to know, but not to the extent that it might cost him this routine.

Nights they usually spend in a park, curled up in an odd little lean-to at the side of some dumpsters. The smell isn't great, but there's shelter, and it's fairly quiet. The middle of the park is often populated by the more vocal, drunken homeless, who are more vulnerable to the drunken, bored scurriers who will make promises of all manner of things to them if they perform for their for entertainment. Violence is their preferred form of sport, from paying two drunk old men to fight, to paying some pretty girl to let them rape her, only to beat her and take the money back. There's nothing pleasant about those that scurry under the cover of darkness. Ryan knows how to play them though, knows how to use these dark scurriers to his advantage, because whilst they stand staring into the abyss, thinking themselves above it, Ryan sits in that abyss, and stares back at them with a smirk on his lips.

There's a darkness in everyone on the streets. It's inevitable. They live in horrors. It's only proper that they become filled with those horrors, and whilst some are consumed by the darkness, Ryan has befriended it. He doesn't tremble in fear of what he's done, or what he's become, because he knows the other option is death. He's not spent all of his time puzzling over the mysteries of life only to willingly walk into those of death.

Habits form quickly on the streets. Habits designed to keep you alive. Habits that have Ryan sleeping close to, but not touching Em. Habits that have him seeking warmth from the nearest living thing when his dreams take him. Habits that have never quite taken hold of Ryan in his sleep, and he realizes a second too late that he was too close to Em, that his hand, his arm, his leg, some part of Ryan at least touched Em, and Em doesn't like being touched in his sleep. The punch in the face shocks Ryan from his sleep, leaving him blinking slowly, his head filled with a low buzzing.

"Get the fuck away from me!" Em's on his feet quickly, shaking slightly. Ryan raises slowly, hands raised in a non-threatening, surrendering gesture, trying to placate, trying to soothe.

"Em?" He tries softly, but Em's not listening, or more likely can't listen because instinct has kicked in. The kick to Ryan's shin sends him crashing to his knees, and the follow up boot to the chin snaps his head back, the taste of blood filling his mouth.

"Who the fuck are you?" Em's screaming, hysteria in his voice. "What the fuck do you want? C'mon asshole, get up! Answer me!" Ryan's temper is scrambling to mount a defense as Em's foot connects with his ribs; instinct grabs Em's leg, and pulls him off balance. Anger is Ryan's most familiar friend, his closest ally.

"Calm down." Yet, Ryan's more rational side is telling him that this is a bad idea, that he needs to calm Em down, then get them out of here before the cops show up, and they're in the cells for the night. Anger won't help him, not tonight, not with Em, not right now.

"Lemme go!" Em's fists are vicious, and his voice is a desperate hissing. "Fucking lemme go!" Ryan pulls his leg again, Em losing his footing and landing heavily on his back, the air leaving his lungs with a pained whoosh.

"Em." It's a stupid idea to have straddled him, to be pinning him down, because Em fights all the more violently, struggling against Ryan's weight and height advantage with a strength borne of fear. The noises he's making aren't recognizable as real words, more like the screams of a banshee, screeching for his freedom. The single punch Ryan throws he regrets. Em stills instantly, blood trickling sluggishly from his nose, his chest raising and falling rapidly, his eyes wide with fear. "Em... It's me. It's Ryan." The words mean nothing. Ryan can see that they're having no effect, and he stands, careful to not move too quickly and spook Em anymore. In the near distance, there's the sound of a siren. Ryan turns to look in the direction of it, and he hears Em scramble away. He doesn't look to see where he's gone. It's not the time to worry about that, he's got more pressing concerns, like his own freedom.

The shelter is pretty empty, but Ryan supposes he's there pretty early. The few staff on hand, that recognize him, eye Ryan warily. He's been in some trouble here before, none that he'd started, but plenty that he'd finished. There are some people on the streets that don't like Ryan for various reasons. His sexuality, his tendency to run volatile, his habit of never quite knowing when to shut up and take it. Ryan makes few friends, and keeps even fewer, but he wishes he'd kept Em a little longer. They'd gotten on fairly well, and Eminem was interesting, but since the fight in the park a few nights ago, he's not seen hide or hair of him.

It's strange, but Ryan had gone looking for him, had followed the loop they'd taken over the few weeks they'd known each other, but no one had seen him. He'd been assured that sometimes Em vanishes. It's not uncommon for homeless people to vanish. Death is a perpetual hazard of those without a roof over their heads, but Ryan doesn't think he's dead. He doesn't want Em to be dead. He wants Em to be okay. He wants Em to come back. The man at the deli, Denaun, had assured Ryan that Em was like a stray cat. He comes round all the time for a few weeks, and then one day he's just gone. You keep looking for him, keep worrying about him, and then one day he's back, no explanation, no reason, no nothing to tell you where he's been, just back until he's gone again.

There's something about Em that keeps Ryan's attention in a way he can't ever remember anyone else being able to. It might be the slightly unpredictable nature of him. The incident in the park is something Ryan can't forget. He still aches slightly every time he moves thanks to Em's feet and fists. It might be that Eminem has some interestingly useful connections in the city, or it might be those eyes of his. They're interesting eyes, a pretty color, and there's more than just another sob story behind them. There's the tale of that scar, there's the tale of his mood swings, there's the tale of his terrible memory. There's more than a story behind him, Ryan's certain of that, behind Eminem there's an epic, and he's always been drawn to the thicker tomes on the library shelves.

His bed for the night is unpleasantly close to the bathroom, and Ryan can only hope that the shelter doesn't get too full. Knowing his luck, he'll get puked on by a drunk again. It's never particularly fun being someone's vomit catcher, and he can only hope that the drunks make it, or that there aren't many of them.

He heads to the showers quickly. Communal bathing has never been his thing. He's a pretty private guy, and despite his preference for men, there's rarely a guy from the streets that catches his eye. Once or twice, he's scored a hook up in one of these places with some pretty young thing that's just run away from home, but on the whole, Ryan's sexual exploits have come with some cold hard cash to accompany the warm hard flesh. There's one other guy in the showers. Thin, bruises all up his back, tattoos all down his arms. His movements are slow and cautious, but jerky as though he's worried about being so exposed. Ryan ignores him, and washes quickly. Even if he's not alone, the water feels good.

You learn to live with being filthy on the streets, but when you can, there's nothing like being clean. Hot running water is a luxury that Ryan would revel in if he were ever a scurrier. He'd take hour-long showers if he could. It's not a good idea here though. Naked is vulnerable, and vulnerable is the first thing you have to learn to not be on the streets. By the time Ryan's done washing and dressing, the other guy has finished up, dressed, and is standing in front of a mirror, trimming his beard with a pair of clippers.

"Your nose okay?" Ryan doesn't come too close, isn't entirely sure that Em won't swing for him again.

"It's fine... Are..." Em's reflection closes its eyes, and a soft sigh escapes him. "I'm sorry I freaked out." He offers instead of whatever his question was going to be.

"Hey, don't worry about it." Ryan takes a step closer, and Em nods, turning to face him. "You look like shit." It's not a particularly pleasant remark, but it is an accurate one. Em looks awful, his skin a strangely sallow shade, deep bruises from a lack of sleep under his eyes, with his short hair still damp and plastered to his skull, he looks terrible.

"I've been awake." Em shrugs, and Ryan squints at him, not too sure how to answer. "I'm sorry I hit you... I just... Are you okay? Have you been alright?" Em's fingers start twisting up in the ends of his sleeves, and Ryan nods, staring at him critically.

"You've not been eating have you?" He looks thinner, and without all of his layers, his naked body had looked so thin. Now that Ryan knows what he looks like naked he can't shake the image. If it had just been some random it wouldn't be in Ryan's mind. He'd have filed it away as another thin homeless guy with a nice ass, but now it's Em's thin body, it's his nice ass to go along with his untold, but undoubtedly interesting story. Eminem is a mystery Ryan wants to get to the bottom of, and it surprises him.

"I eat." He mutters defensively, his arms wrapping around himself. "You gonna trim that beast on your face?"

"Gonna shave it off." Ryan laughs, rubbing his hand over the beard on his chin. Em smiles at him, and turns back to the mirror, tactically moving over, leaving enough room beside him should Ryan wish to stand by him. It's an invitation that Ryan takes, foaming his face, and shaving quickly.

"You look younger like that." Em's voice is soft, and Ryan turns to him, a towel pressed to his newly beard-less chin.

"I'm not that old... Twenty-seven." Ryan smiles, and Em nods vaguely, his fingers once more twisting in his sleeves. "How old are you?" It's an easy question, but Em pales. His hand, still tangled in his sleeve, comes up to press against the scar on his forehead.

"I... I don't know." He mutters, and Ryan frowns at him, gently taking hold of his wrist, moving slowly, giving Em every opportunity to stop him as he draws Em's hand from his face, and stares at the scar. It's slightly raised, and starkly white. An old deep wound.

"What happened to you?" Ryan trails a finger above the scar, not touching, not daring to for fear of Em swinging for him again. Em steps back, shaking his head, and gathers the few things he has. "Hey... Don't vanish on me again." Ryan calls to him as he moves to leave the showering room. "I missed you." Ryan shrugs, and Em stares at him in disbelief.

"Sure you did." Em scoffs, and Ryan comes over to him quickly, his paltry possessions tucked under his arm.

"I did... I got used to your forgetful ass." Ryan misses out the fact that now he's seen it, there's more to Em's ass than being forgetful. For all his skinniness, Em has a nice ass, softly curved, firm, pert. The sort of ass that Ryan knows would be a good fuck.

"Sure." Em scoffs once more, and leaves the showering room, making his way into the sleeping area. "The bed by me is free... It's further from the toilet." He doesn't look back at Ryan, but Ryan thinks he knows that he'll follow. A bed in a better location is a good idea, further from the toilets greatly reduces the likelihood of being puked on.

Ryan lies on the bed beside Em's, surreptitiously watching him settle under his blanket, getting ready to sleep, his back turned to Ryan. It's stupid, but Ryan doesn't want him facing the opposite way. He wants to lie facing Em, and try to fool himself that he's not in a shelter. He wants to try and picture his scurrier house, and his never-ending supply of hot water. He wants to imagine knowing the story behind that scar on Em's brow, he wants to imagine how Em would look if he wasn't so thin, if he was well fed, fucked out and curled up to sleep in a soft warm bed wrapped in Ryan's arms.

"Hey Em?" Ryan calls softly after a little while. The room is slowly filling with other people, their voices low and rough, occasional loud hacking coughs interrupting the hush that's filled the space, so he pitches his voice quietly, hoping Em will hear.

"Uh-huh?" Em turns around, and his face appears from under his blanket, in the dim light the pale scar, and twinkling blue eyes are about all Ryan can really see.

"Goodnight." Ryan smirks, and Em snorts, tugging his blanket around himself tighter, but not turning away from Ryan again.

"G'night, Ryan." A sly smile spreads over Em's lips, and Ryan stares at him, willing him to explain how he remembered Ryan's name, but somehow completely content with at least being remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos, I really appreciate them.


	3. When We Die We All Going The Same Way

There are few guarantees in life. There's very little you can say is certain. In fact the only certain thing is uncertainty, and it's something that Ryan has always taken comfort in. Guarantees make you complacent, and complacent makes you lazy, and lazy makes you dead on the streets. There's no handouts for the lazy. Scurriers see the homeless as living on handouts, and whilst in some ways that is the case, there's nothing free on the streets. A trip to a soup kitchen, or to a shelter is fraught with hazards. There are dangers on the streets that most people don't see. Even if you make it to somewhere the white whales are engaging in their charity, there's no guarantee that there'll be charity for you. First come, first served is the law of charity. Survival of the fittest is the law of the streets.

The scurriers live lives with guarantees. They have security in their own little worlds. Worlds with food, with warmth, with shelter. Their problems are small. He's heard their complaints his whole life, has heard them change, or at least expand to include new and exciting minor niggles. He's heard everything from whining about heating systems being too complicated to understand, to windowless bathrooms. Having a heating system, a bathroom, windowless or otherwise, isn't something Ryan's ever experience. He can't remember a time when he'd ever lived somewhere. He can't remember ever having a home. The biggest problem that the women sitting near him, in that they're in a coffee shop, and he's huddled outside, face is that there's no free wifi, and their shoes aren't as comfortable as they'd looked in the store. Such minor things to find to complain about, but they're scurriers, they have guarantees, they have certainty, and Ryan doesn't.

The major complaint of most scurriers is that they're bored. All their money, all their comforts, all their guarantees don't bring them the happiness they seek. It's the problem of needs once more. They have everything they need, so they seek out something else to satisfy themselves with, never realizing that they're searching for something so fleeting that it's impossible to attain. For Ryan, boredom isn't a problem. Boredom isn't a luxury he's afforded. Even in these moments when most could find the time to be bored, Ryan fills his mind with thinking. He's of the opinion that most of the scurriers don't think. He's sure that they have thoughts, but he's also sure that they don't contemplate anything of note. They fill their heads with empty white noise to stop themselves from thinking too much. They worship at alters of celebrity so they don't have time to consider the meaning and value of their lives. Lives that are wasted on self-indulgent boredom. Scurriers are comfortable, and comfort breeds apathy. Scurrying breeds nothing but death.

"Hey." Em's voice is a surprise, a welcome surprise. After the night in the shelter, a night Ryan had spent mostly watching Em sleep, considering the lines of his face, and the now known lines of his body, contemplating the curious beauty of him as a whole, Em had vanished once more. He's been gone from Ryan's life for a week, and now he's returned, looking as tired as ever, holding two cups of something steamingly hot in his hands.

"Thanks." Ryan takes the offered cup, and Em sits beside him, sipping at the steaming hot liquid. A silence falls over them, one that Ryan would like to break by asking Em where he's been, but he's not sure that he'd get an answer. In all honesty, Ryan isn't sure if he'd get anything other than a fist to the jaw for enquiring after Em's business. He's a secretive man, and Ryan isn't sure if that's because Em simply doesn't remember where he's been, or if it's something else entirely.

"You thinking about anything interesting?" Em sounds like he actually is interested in Ryan's thoughts, but they're the only things Ryan truly owns, and he's possessive of them. He's not inclined to share his contemplations on the human condition with the most contradictory creature he's ever met. He's not sure how to classify Em. He refuses to fit into a nice, neat category, and it frustrates Ryan. Em seems to live to defy classification, to defy the order Ryan has given his world. Despite the frustration Em causes, Ryan isn't inclined to give up trying though. He's never met someone he couldn't work out, and he doesn't mean to start with Em. Given enough time he'll slot Em into a classification, all it'll take is time, and time is something Ryan has plenty of.

"Nothing much." He shrugs, and Em snorts at him disbelievingly.

"You look like you've got the weight of the World on your shoulders." Em very slightly nudges him with his shoulder, and Ryan glances over at him, properly looking at him for the first time since he showed back up. There's a bruise on Em's left eye, deep purple, and sore looking, his lip's swollen. Ryan stares at him, wondering where the injuries came from, but knowing better than to ask.

"You look like it crushed you." Ryan takes a drink from his coffee, feeling it scalding its way down his gullet. There's something reassuring about the pain of the too hot liquid burning him from the inside, something that reminds him that he's alive.

"Hmm... Maybe a little." Em sighs, and closes his eyes, his head resting against the wall behind them. "You wrote your name up by mine on the wall." He says suddenly. "It’s how I remembered it, in case you were wondering." A smile spreads over his lips, and Ryan can't help but laugh at him. He had written his name there. The morning after Em had beat him in the park, he'd gone to the spot by the subway hoping that Em would be there, but he wasn't. An old discarded marker pen was though, and Ryan, in a fit of pique, had scrawled his name up beside Em's, claiming the spot as his own.

"So... That wall is how you remember things?" Ryan chuckles, Em's laugh is little more than a puff of air, but it's a pleasant sound all the same, one Ryan would like to hear again.

"I remember things better when I can see them... I don't know why, I just do." There's something off about Em's tone, something distractedly miserable, and Ryan downs the last of his coffee, getting to his feet.

"C'mon." He offers a hand down to Em, but it's ignored as he stands, pointlessly dusting his pants off.

"Where we going?" Em finishes his own coffee, and tosses the empty cup into the trash, taking Ryan's and doing the same with it.

"Somewhere else... It's too cold here." Ryan starts walking aimlessly. It is cold, and sitting on the ground wasn't helping, though he's not sure walking will help much either. It's depressingly windy, and walking is exercise Em doesn't much need, he's thin enough. They should be conserving the little energy they do have, but sitting gets old when you can't lose yourself in your own musings, so walking is as good as any other pastime.

They wander about for hours, pointlessly spending energy they don't have, and wind up at the back of the restaurant where they'd helped unload a delivery weeks ago. The man who owns the restaurant had popped his head out of the back, and greeted Em, and by proxy Ryan, as old friends. He'd even gone as far as to pull Em into a hug, then held him out at arm's length as though surveying a long missed old friend. He talked to them for a while, rambling about business, answering the few questions about when he might need some more help vaguely, then gave them some calzone, and a large bottle of milk that was close to its expiry date, leaving them with a cheerful goodbye.

"We should head somewhere to eat..." Ryan starts walking, and Em follows along by him in silence. There's something on Em's mind, and as much as Ryan wants to pick his brain to try and solve the riddle that is Em, he knows that asking won't get him much of anywhere. Em is the sort of man who has to trust you to share what's on his mind, and Ryan supposes he is too. His thoughts, his past, his future, those are the only things that are Ryan's, and he's not inclined to share them lightly. The few things you own you have to cling to when you've got nothing of any substance, and Ryan clings to his thoughts desperately, the only thing he holds more dear is his trust, but Em's slowly earning that.

"Do you ever think about dying?" It's an unexpected question that Em delivers without looking up from the ground, his voice soft, barely audible over the wind, and Ryan turns to him.

"What?" Considering death isn't something Ryan does often, and he's not entirely sure he can pull off a more eloquent answer at such short notice. Death is a subject he doesn't like to consider, not when he's so fixated on avoiding it.

"Death... Do you ever think about it?" Em repeats a little louder, tugging the collar of his worn-out sweater up some more. He looks cold, even colder than Ryan feels, and there's an unexpected stab of concern in Ryan's gut for him.

"Not really" Ryan answers honestly, turning into the park. There's no point in them wandering around in this wind any more. They've got some food, and something to drink. They may as well head to the lean-to by the dumpsters, and call it a night. They clamber into the little shelter, Ryan against the cold metal, Em closer to the draughty wooden wall, and sit staring into the darkness.

"You spend a lot of time thinking, but you don't consider dying?" Em's voice is hushed out of habit. Being quiet is second nature on the streets. You don't want to draw undue attention to yourself, especially if you're on your own. Em has clearly been on his own until Ryan forced his way into Em's routine, but then Ryan had been on his own until then too. He's part of Em's routine for a reason though. Em has a good system, and Ryan's taking advantage of that. The fact that Em's an intriguing, and pretty, riddle is a bonus. Nothing more, but certainly nothing less.

"I worry more about living, Em." Ryan unwraps one of the calzone they'd been gifted by the restaurant owner. It's not hot anymore, but it's heavy with some sort of filling, and smells good. When he breaks it in half, handing half of it to Em, the cheese inside is still stretches a good long way before it breaks, and the delicious scent increases. Em takes a bite, his eyes drifting closed. "It's good?" The first bite Ryan takes has him wanting another, but he's careful to savor the food in his mouth. He's not eaten something that tastes this good in a long time. It might be cold, but it's filled with meat, cheese, and the most amazing tomato sauce.

"You worry about living, but don't think of dying... Kind of weird don't you think?" Em seems to be looking to have this conversation whether Ryan wants to or not. It's not that death isn't an interesting topic; it's just that the mysteries of life are more interesting to Ryan.

"Not really... Dying is inevitable, and for us, living is a more important struggle, wouldn't you say?" Ryan opens the milk, taking a swig, and setting the bottle between them.

"I guess... I think about dying." Em takes another bite of his calzone, chewing slowly. "I think I might have come close, and... It plays on my mind sometimes." He shrugs, taking another bite of food.

"Your scar?" Em nods in response to Ryan's question, leaving Ryan with the problem of wondering what to say next. It's an open invitation to ask more questions about that scar, but the right question isn't coming to Ryan easily. The wrong question will have Em clamming up, of that, Ryan's certain, but the right one is elusive. "Do you remember how you got it?"

"Kind of... I remember there being a lot of blood, and people standing around me... Then a whole lot of nothing." Em takes the milk, drinking slowly. "I think it was an accident... A car maybe? I don't know." He shrugs, and Ryan waits to see if he'll add anything to his explanation. "I woke up in a hospital, and couldn't remember anything." He sighs, his eyes drifting closed, a forlorn look on his face.

"Nothing?" Ryan prompts. It's not quite the great reveal he'd been hoping for; it's a story that leaves him with more questions than answers. Even with the answer of how Em got that scar, he remains a riddle.

"They had to teach me how to use a toilet, Ryan." Em snaps, setting the milk down firmly, and biting at his calzone once more.

"Really?" The extent of Em's memory loss is surprising, but the scar is big. The trauma that caused it must have been extensive. It's probably a miracle that Em's still alive. He really must have come close to death the day he received that wound.

"Really... They said it was something to do with oxygen getting to my brain, and damage from the accident... I..." A frown settles on Em's lips, one hand coming up to rub at his forehead. "It hurts sometimes... It makes me shaky sometimes. I can't remember things all that well... I don't even know my birthday." He laughs, but it's tinged with a slight mania, as though some part of Em was reliving an old, familiar mental breakdown. "All I know is that the name I had before the accident was Marshal Mathers." He smiles slightly, and finishes his half of the calzone. "I couldn't be Marshall anymore, so I became Eminem instead, a parody of who I used to be" His arms wrap around himself, and Ryan fidgets, torn between comforting, and asking more questions. There are so many he wants to ask, but they're fighting for the right to be asked first, and comforting isn't something Ryan's had a lot of experience with.

"Wasn't there someone there with you? Someone to tell you who you were?" The question comes more easily, more naturally than giving comfort ever would. Ryan watches an odd little expression flit over Em's face, something at once hopefully, but utterly lost, and completely miserable.

"Sometimes I remember faces... At least I think I do." He sighs, and scrubs a hand over his face. "I think about it sometimes when I'm begging. I wonder if any of the people walking past knew me... If they could tell me who I am... Who I was." Em's eyes fall closed once more, and he shakes his head. "It's stupid..."

"No." Ryan moves a little closer, not really sure what he intends to do, but there's an utterly foreign part of him that's calling out to comfort Em in his distress. "It's understandable that you'd want to know who you were."

"I'm never sure if the faces I remember are from the hospital or before, or if I just made them up... It doesn't matter much either way, I guess." Ryan finds himself staring at Em's face, staring into his eyes, caught by the depth of the pain in them.

"Why doesn't it matter?" The whisper that question is delivered in sounds far too loud to Ryan's ears, as if it's breaking some kind of odd spell with its unruly volume.

"Whoever I was clearly wasn't a good enough person for anyone to want to stick around him." The smile that stretches over Em's lips is brutal. A smile shouldn't look so much like the physical manifestation of a wound to the soul, but this one does.

"You're a good person, Em." Ryan mutters, his fingers twitching with the urge to pull Em close and hold him. He looks vulnerable in that moment, and as much as vulnerability is a lethal liability on the streets, Ryan wants to protect Em from his right then.

"No... No, I'm not." Em laughs again, and lies down, settling to sleep. "But you do what you gotta do to survive, right?" He smiles over at Ryan, and Ryan nods vaguely.

"Yeah... You gotta survive, and sometimes surviving isn't easy." Ryan glances around the little lean-to, and fishes the ratty balled up blankets from where they're wedged between two of the dumpsters. He drapes one of them over Em, and huddles up in the other.

"What have you done to survive?" Em sounds like he's drifting off to sleep, in the darkness his features aren't visibly, even the starkly white scar is hidden beneath his beanie.

"Same thing we've all done... Stole some shit, sold some shit, myself included." Ryan laughs, and Em snorts, squirming slightly to make himself more comfortable as he lies staring up at Ryan.

"I've only ever sold myself... It's where I go when I'm not here." There's a heavy pause, and Ryan considers what Em just said. "Well... G'night." Ryan's not happy with Em deciding to call the conversation quits. It feels like it's just begun, but there's not too much point in arguing with him. So he settles to lay on the ground near Em, but far away enough to not touch him in his sleep, and considers what he'd learned about the other man so far.

The law of the streets is survival of the fittest. Ryan knows that to be a fact, but there are some things he wishes he didn't know. Survival at all costs, that's what Em is doing to himself. A week with some grubby businessman who wants a bit of rough as a pet. It's not a huge surprise that Em would stoop to whoring himself out, Ryan's done it more times that he cares to remember, but it's strangely upsetting that Em has to do it too. It sullies Em in a way Ryan doesn't like. The idea of someone touching Em for any reason other than appreciation doesn't sit well with him. Em's a creature of riddles to be admired and contemplated, to be touched with the care and concern that something so intriguing deserves. A man who pays to indulge in Em has no business being near him. A man who pays for Em won't understand the mysteries of him, and even if that man did understand, there's no way he'd put the effort required into appreciating them.

"I can feel you staring at me." Em mutters, and Ryan laughs at him. "Why?" Em's eyes are on him, Ryan can feel the weight of them, and it's too much to bear.

"Why what?" He closes his eyes, and hears Em moving closer, feels him settle down beside Ryan, pressed against his side.

"Why are you staring at me?" Em's entirely too close. Even through the many layers of fabric, Ryan can feel the warmth of his thin body. The mental image of Em's naked form asserts itself in Ryan's mind, demanding his full attention.

"You're interesting." Ryan offers vaguely, and tries to back away, but there's nowhere to go. He's pressed against the side of the dumpster, the plywood, and space, of the other side of the shack are behind Em. He's caught between a rock and a hard place, with not options but to let Em trap him where he is.

"Interesting?" Em laughs, his head resting on Ryan's chest, his arms snaking about his waist, making himself comfortable half on top of Ryan. "You're warm." He yawns, and Ryan lies rigidly still beneath him.

"You can't sleep like this... You'll punch me." Ryan doesn't move Em off of him though. There's something nice about Em using his chest as a pillow, something alienly pleasant about it.

"I won't, I promise. I'll know I fell asleep on you, so it'll be alright." Em yawns again, and nuzzles against Ryan. "Relax. Sleep. It'll be okay."

"Better be." Ryan lets his arms settle lightly around Em, feeling him relax even more, his body pliant in Ryan's hold. "Your kicks hurt, I don't want another one." Em laughs softly, but doesn't answer Ryan, instead it seems like he's fallen asleep. As much as he'd like to, instinct keeps Ryan from pressing a kiss to Em's head. Lying like this is intimate, but it's also rational. It's bitterly cold, and body heat keeps you warm. A kiss is also intimate, but it would be nothing more than foolish sentimentality. There's no real place for sentiment on the streets. It's a place where the soft, tender emotions that scurriers get to indulge in are denied, because they're a weakness. You can't have anything that could be used against you on the streets. There's no bigger target to those who would want to hurt you, than the person you're sentimental over. Yet there's no denying to himself, that Ryan would like to kiss Em, he'd like to be sentimental over him, and there's no denying that that makes Em a far bigger threat than Ryan's comfortable with.


	4. a Rubik's, a Beautiful Mess

Beauty is a strange concept. It's something the scurriers consider almost every second of their lives, but seem to miss the point of. Spending so much of his life on the streets has given Ryan ample opportunity to observe the shifting trends of what is, and isn't beautiful in the minds of scurriers. People watching is a sport he's well versed in, and the longer he competes in it, the more he realizes that people are becoming more and more the same. Just as cities are being homogenized into identical places, people are becoming identical. Beauty, true beauty, is something that scurriers will never understand. Beauty should be something that it hurts to look at. Beauty should be something that when you're in its presence you're not sure what to do. Beauty should be something that some people are confused, disgusted, or scared of. There is no universal beauty. Anything, anyone who everyone can agree on as beautiful simply isn't. It's nothing more than an accepted level of pleasant. Universally accepted beauty is bland, banal, and uninteresting. It's not beauty, it's wallpaper. Real beauty should make you uncomfortable, real beauty should make you shy away from it, part in awe, part in fear. Based on the way the homeless are taking a step back, the way they're are standing watching from behind each other, or trees, leaves Ryan thinking that this fight is a thing of true beauty.

It had started when some drunk, rich scurriers had made a comment on finding the lean-to. The flimsy walls had been kicked in, and a few standard insults had been thrown that Em had taken exception to. Ryan knows from experience how much a kick from Em hurts, and the fact that it'd taken the one scurrier who had thrown the first insult a good thirty seconds to stand once more shows that he knows how much they hurt too. It's five on two, and there's a part of Ryan that thinks this isn't fair to the scurriers. Em fights like a dervish, everywhere at once, and Ryan's well practiced in avoiding getting his ass kicked. He's been in more than his fair share of fights, he knows how to handle himself. These scurriers had clearly expected some easy quarry to end their night of drinking, it's not fair to them that they chose so very badly. Between Em's kicks, and Ryan's fists, these drunk scurriers don't stand much of a chance.

It takes maybe five minutes to render them incapable of sustaining the fight, four of them slinking off, the audience of homeless that had crowded around trailing them. There's no doubt in Ryan's mind that those four will find themselves relieved of most of their possessions by the dispersed crowd. The fifth is laying in a heap of drying blood, Em standing over him, his eyes narrowed, thin chest heaving slightly.

"We should move him." Em nudges the unconscious scurrier with his foot, and Ryan nods vaguely. Leaving the scurrier where he is isn't a good idea. It's too close to the lean-to, that they'll need to rebuild for now, but move tomorrow, because now the position is compromised. Once the night scurriers find you, they will hound you. They'll keep coming back, again, and again until they've exhausted all possible entertainment opportunities, and Ryan doesn't doubt that this group would come back with their friends to try and kick the shit out of Em and him.

"I'll check his pockets first, then you grab his arms, and I'll get the feet." Ryan walks over to the scurrier.

"No." Em bats Ryan away, his expression hard and tight.

"You wanna check him yourself?" Ryan laughs, straightening up to meet Em's eyes easily. "Go ahead, but we don't have all night."

"We're not robbing him." Em moves to stand by the scurrier's head, and nods down to his feet.

"Like hell we aren't!" Ryan scoffs, moving to search through the unconscious man's pockets.  
Em's foot makes a swipe for Ryan's hand, missing, but just barely. "Hey! C'mon, it's not like he's gonna miss a few bucks."

"We're better than that." Em sniffs. "We're not robbing him. We already beat him, that's enough, Ryan." Em snaps, and Ryan sighs at him, but does move down to grab the scurrier's ankles, and haul his lower half up off the ground. Em takes the man's wrists, lifting the rest of the man's body up into the air slightly. Nobility is all well and good, it's plenty nice, but this noble spark merely makes Em even more of a riddle to Ryan. Em's a white whale trapped in the situation of a homeless man. Yet, there's a mean streak in him that makes it possible for him to thrive in a World like this. There's too many contradictions to Em, too many parts that make up the whole that just shouldn't fit together, but they do. "Thank you." Em murmurs softly, and Ryan glances up at him. There's something gentle on Em's face, some kind of sweet expression that fills Ryan with a trickle of unexpected warmth.

"Yeah, well... Whatever, let's just get him outta here. I wanna get some more sleep tonight." Ryan starts walking, and Em nods, following Ryan's lead. They dump the man on the pavement outside of the park, leaving him propped up against a wall. There's a sluggish trail of blood from his broken nose, and an impressive bruise taking up most of his face.

"You okay?" Em asks suddenly, and Ryan turns to him. The bruises that had been on Em are still there, but to accompany them there's now a set of grazed knuckles, and a manic grin. The thrill of a fight suits Em incredibly well, adrenaline brings out the fire in him, and in the harsh orange glare of the streetlight, he's breath-taking in his beauty.

"I'm good... Why? Don't I look it?" Ryan smirks, hiding a wince as it makes what feels like a split lip making itself known.

"No... You look like shit." Em laughs, and Ryan shakes his head. Despite the instinct to, he doesn't duck when Em comes closer, and swipes some tissue paper pulled from his pocket over Ryan's cheek. "You've got some blood... I don't think it's yours though." Em licks the paper, and swipes Ryan's cheek again, his eyes narrowed in concentration. "There... That's better." He smiles awkwardly, his hand still against Ryan's cheek, the tissue feels a little rough, but there's a spark of electricity where Em's fingers are touching Ryan's skin, an unfamiliar tingling that Ryan finds he more than likes.

"Thanks... I don't have anything to clean you up with... Even if I did, I don't think it'd help. You need a shower." Ryan smiles, and Em laughs, a deep genuine laugh that lingers in Ryan's mind as they walk back into the park.

"We should move on." Em mutters once they get back by the dumpsters, the sheets of plywood are surprisingly still there, as are the ratty blankets. Ryan had expected them to have been stolen, and added to someone else's horde. It might be that the other homeless are still picking over the four scurriers, or it might be that they're too scared to come back to the scene of the beating. It's hard to tell, but Ryan supposes it doesn't matter much either way.

"In the morning." Ryan rubs his eyes, yawning. Em starts reassembling something like a shelter, propping the wood up against the metal, Ryan helping him eventually. "Fuck, I'm tired." He feels worn out, as well as beaten. Tomorrow they're finding a shelter for the night. He wants something like a good night's sleep and a shower tomorrow. A shower where he's going to spend some time lingering over Em's naked body. He wants a better look, wants to see if there's evidence of other people's hands on Em beyond his face, wants to try and work out if the bruises on his face are from his clients or from fights. He wants to check Em over now if he's honest, but it's too dark, too cold, and too public. A shelter might not offer any more privacy, but it offers the illusion of it, and Ryan intends to grab that with both hands. After tonight, after this fight, he's grimly aware that he's attached, that he's sentimental over Em. After tonight, he's decided that Em is his. Not his friend, not his travelling companion, not his riddle to be solved, just plain his. Em's dangerous when he has to be, sweet when he can be, but always interesting. Ryan isn't letting him go. He's going to cling to Em, not just for his system and his connections, but for him. There's something about him that keeps Ryan's attention, something that keeps Em in the back of Ryan's mind. It's something that Ryan can't deny to himself, he needs to keep Em around, and he's going to do everything he can to keep him.

"Yeah, well... To bed then?" Em waves his hand at the little makeshift shack, and Ryan gets in, squinting in the darkness to watch Em pull the last sheet of ply behind him, sealing the little hut up.

"Hey... C'mere." Ryan holds his arms out to Em, sighing contentedly when Em settles against him once more, his head on Ryan's chest, the ratty blankets wrapped around them both.

The night is a dangerous time for those who live on the streets. At night, you're asleep, and asleep you're vulnerable. As you dream your body is open to attack, unprotected by your watchful eyes against those who wish to harm you, and they find an opening under the cover of darkness. Night is the abyss, and the scurriers that lurk around the edges, peeking in tentatively are a threat. Ryan's always thought he sat in the abyss alone, that his smirk in shadows was the only one, but it's not. Curled up in his arms once more is one who wears a Cheshire Cat grin with him in the depths of the abyss. Em's a good man at his core, but over that core are layers of darkness, his light carefully wrapped up in thick shadows to keep it safe. With Em, Ryan's a little safer, Em proved that most eloquently tonight. There's not usually safety in numbers for groups of men on the streets, especially groups of just two. It makes you more of a target, but with Em by his side, Ryan's sure there's not much of anyone who'd come off better than them in a fight.

"You're staring at me... I can feel it." Em mutters, and Ryan chuckles at him, smiling when Em shifts so that his face is turned up to Ryan. "Why?"

"Why what?" Ryan laughs. There's an impossible to resist urge to touch Em's face, Ryan's finger trailing over his features gently. Beneath the dirt, beneath the exhaustion, Em is beautiful. Not the homogenized beauty of the scurriers, but something truly beautiful, something that some people could never appreciate because they don't have the eyes to see.

"Why are you staring at me?" Em's eyebrow twitches when Ryan's finger ghosts over it, his lips quirking in a half-smile when that finger trails over them.

"You're interesting." Ryan smiles, parroting back his words from earlier in the night. Words said before Ryan had come to the conclusion that he's keeping Em, that Em is his now. His hand moves to the back of Em's neck, resting there, but not drawing him any closer. As sure as Ryan is that Em would allow a kiss, Ryan doesn't want to be presumptuous. The decision to kiss is one Ryan will let Em make. He thinks it's inevitable, but he's not going to rush it, time is something he has more than enough of after all.

"Interesting, hmm? Second time you've told me that tonight." Em's voice is soft, almost breathy as he moves closer to Ryan, their lips almost touching. Ryan smiles at him, pleased, and a little relieved, that Em remembers their earlier conversation. It's always a concern that Em will forget things, especially things that Ryan thinks are more important than they first seem, and with Em Ryan's beginning to think that everything is more important that it seems at first glance. "You keep telling me that, and I might remember it." Em murmurs, and Ryan lets his eyes slide half-closed, watching Em through his lashes. It's hard to see him in the darkness, but Ryan doesn't think he needs to be able to see Em to know what's coming next. There's only one of two ways for the tension between them to be relieved, and Ryan's hoping that Em will choose the most enjoyable of options.

"I'll write it on your wall." Ryan's words are barely out before Em kisses him, a kiss that had been intended to be light and short, but that Ryan deepens hungrily. He's not kissed someone in a long time, and even if Em doesn't taste particularly great, dental hygiene isn't something you can be too picky about on the streets, the kiss itself is incredible. There's a well of passion, of fire inside Em, and Ryan can feel it in that kiss, can feel it in the way Em's tongue dances with his, the way his body moves over Ryan's own. Em is a riddle, a mystery, a liability, a threat, but more than all of these things, to Ryan, he is beautiful, and more importantly Em is his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your kind comments.
> 
> If you're into Bad Meets Evil, you should read this (https://www.wattpad.com/story/203438721-bad-meets-evil-eminem-%2B-royce-da-5%279)  
> , very well written, impressive and realistic, check it out and show the author some love.


	5. Blank Painting

There's one advantage to being homeless in a world populated by scurriers, but it's an advantage with a double-edge. Scurriers are people watchers as much as Ryan is, but they only see the people they want to, those that don't fit their worldview are invisible. Scurriers look up to those who are better than them, wishing for their money, their looks, their lives, and look down on everyone else. There's only one reason to see a homeless person, and that's to reassure themselves that they're at least better off than someone. They foster their own comfort by ignoring the discomfort of others, by making everything about them, and how it fits into their narrative. Most homeless are completely invisible to scurriers, and invisibility makes life a lot easier in some ways.

In many ways, the homeless are similar to scurriers in how they see each other. They see those who are lower on the food chain as prey, but inside every homeless person, there's a hint of white whale. There is solidarity in shared destitution. The story of the homeless is shared, there's a connection, grim and dire between them all. No matter where you go, if you're one of them, they'll find you, and even if twenty spit on you, one will help. There's nothing like that hint of white whale in the world of the scurriers. There's no fellowship amongst them, no community. It's a world of individuals bound by nothing but their shared belief that they are the most important character in everyone's story, not just their own.

Ryan isn't the sort of person who's ever sought out the companionship of his peers. He's never felt the pull of another person drawing him into their orbit, but with Em, it's there, inevitable, alluring, irresistible. Eminem's is a tale that Ryan feels like he's only skim reading though. He doesn't know any of the background, all he has are the cliff notes, but then that's all Em has. He can't imagine how Em must have felt when he woke up after his accident. It's impossible for Ryan to try and picture waking up, and knowing nothing. He can't begin to fathom the depth of frustration Em must have felt, must still feel. A hole where the record of your life should be, pages covered in white out, and scribbles instead of the words and pictures of your memories. He can't begin to understand what Em goes through, he can't being understand what it must be like having that emptiness, but he wants try, if only so Ryan can know the whole story of who Eminem is.

In the light of dawn, they moved on, carrying the plywood, and blankets from the park, seeking out another quite spot in a different oasis of greenery in the fetid grey desert of the city.

"Here?" Ryan asks once they're in a new spot in a different park. It's sheltered, thick trees all around, and a solid wall covered in moss on one side. It looks pretty secure, and Ryan thinks it'll be a decent place to build their little shack.

"It'll do... I'm not sure on escape routes, but it should be pretty dark at night, so we should be safe enough." Em mumbles, setting down the sheet of ply he's carrying. The invisibility of being homeless had let them pass through the scurriers without too much notice. One or two had given them some strange looks, but on the whole, they hadn't cared about what the two homeless men carrying wood were up to. No one had time to spare in their far more busy, far more interesting lives to puzzle over their actions, and Ryan's grateful for that. Answering questions to satisfy scurriers is generally difficult, and stressful. They think they're helping, but really, their false concern is nothing more than humbly showing off how much better they are. 'Oh gosh, I could never imagine' is one phrase Ryan despises above all others. The one phrase that drives home how much lower he is than the scurriers, how much more worthless he is to them, because they can't even bring themselves to empathize with him. Empathy is something scurriers have no time for, understanding how other people live means nothing to them. They put all their energies into themselves, into their own personal epic, so understanding, having simple empathy for someone else's tragedy is beyond them. That's the difference between Ryan and scurriers, they don't care to understand, and there's nothing Ryan wants more than understanding.

"You've been thinking." Ryan comments as they start construction, using string and duct tape to secure the sheets of wood into a rudimentary shelter. Em glances up at him briefly before turning back to his work.

"Yeah... But what else is there to do out here?" He laughs, and Ryan frowns down at the wood in front of him. Em's right, there's not much of anything to do on the streets but think. "You wanna know what I've been thinking about?" Em asks with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I wouldn't have mentioned it if I didn't." Ryan grins over to him, and Em nods, dragging the next sheet of wood over to the construction.

"I was thinking about last night... About the fight... About what happened after." Em sounds thoughtful.

"You kissed me." Ryan comments mildly, helping Em secure the sheet of ply in place.

"I did." Em nods, and turns to Ryan. "Was that okay?" Ryan chuckles at him, and cups his cheek, stroking light stubble on his face. "Ryan, you're staring at me." Em's eyes drift half-closed, watching Ryan with wary laziness.

"Yeah... You're interesting." Ryan mutters, leaning down to kiss Em. Just as the kiss last night had been intended to be light, but got sidetracked, so too is this one.

"So, interesting really means I wanna fuck you?" Em chuckles, and Ryan smirks at him, his hands still resting on Em's cheeks, holding his head in place.

"Interesting means that I think you're interesting, Em." Ryan shrugs, and Em turns his eyes downwards, his shoulders slumping a little. He's clearly taken Ryan's words in the wrong way, because Ryan fully intends to fuck Em as soon as possible, and then keep him. Em is his, he's not letting go, and he's going to have Em in every way possible. "More than interesting to fuck once, more than interesting enough to fuck repeatedly. You're interesting because you're a mystery." Ryan laughs, and Em tries to shake his head, but it's useless as Ryan's still holding it in place.

"I'm a mystery to myself too." Em mumbles, and Ryan strokes a thumb over one of his eyebrows, drawing Em's attention back to him.

"It's always there, huh?" Ryan asks, letting go of Em's head to pull his body closer, holding him tightly.

"What is?" Em murmurs. He's almost snuggling against Ryan, his hands sneaking under the top most layer of Ryan's clothes to be closer to his skin.

"Your lost memories... The blank pages." Ryan closes his eyes, and tries to imagine Em's cold fingers dancing over his bare skin, tries to conjure up how holding Em's thin body against his will feel without the thick barrier of their clothing.

"Blank pages?" Em sounds confused, but doesn't seem inclined to leave Ryan's arms; seemingly, he's more than content to be embraced like this.

"In your story..." Ryan laughs awkwardly, and Em shakes his head, pulling back from the embrace to look at Ryan. "Everyone has a story, and your background is missing... It makes sense." Ryan mutters defensively, and Em chuckles at him.

"A nice way of saying I'm fucked up, huh?" Em laughs, and moves away from Ryan, returning to working on the shelter. "So... What's your back story?"

"My back story?" Ryan rubs the back of his neck, licking his lips nervously. He's not one for talking about himself. His story is his, and he's selfish in sharing it, but Em's shared as much as he can, or at least as much as he says he can, so perhaps Ryan can give a little in return. "I’m from other side of Detroit, big family, ran away when I was fourteen." Ryan holds a board in place as Em secures it, his attention on the thin piece of wood. "I might have starved to death if I stayed in that house."

"Sounds shitty." Em mutters, and then swears under his breath, fishing another piece of string out of one of his pockets.

"Yeah...but I survived, been in this area for a while." Ryan's glossing over a lot of the story, but that's the gist of it. He doesn't think Em needs to hear all of the gory details, at least not yet. If this thing between them becomes something more, then Ryan will share the full tale, the arrests, the beatings, the unpleasant incidents with unpleasant men in dark alleys, or dark dank bedrooms will all be dredged up from Ryan's memories. There've been a lot of things that it would probably be good for Ryan to forget, but forgetting isn't an option, and even if it were, he'd lose a part of himself. It might be the bad parts, but they'd still be parts of him, and he's no intention of letting them go.

"You've been in 8 Mile for years now?" Em asks softly, and Ryan nods. "Why have you stayed here, you could’ve ran to another Midwest state."

"It's not been bad to me... It's given me you, if nothing else." Ryan laughs, and Em snorts, finally finished with the shelter.

"You're laying a claim on me?" Em asks, his voice heavy with dubious amusement.

"I'm laying a claim on you." Ryan repeats firmly, his hands catching Em's, tangling their fingers together.

"And if I object?" Em raises an eyebrow as he looks at Ryan, a smirk on his lips.

"I'm still claiming you, still gonna have your back, still gonna think you're interesting, still gonna wanna fuck you." Ryan returns that smirk, and Em shakes his head.

"I'm probably gonna forget all of that, you know that right?" He smiles slightly, his eyes narrowed, as he tugs one hand free from Ryan's, and rubs at his scar.

"Yeah... I know." Ryan kisses the knuckles of the hand he's still holding, and Em nods slightly. "Lie down, I'll go find something to eat, then we'll head out. I wanna grab a shelter tonight. We need a shower, and-"

"You wanna perv on me naked again?" Em laughs clambering into the little shack, lying down on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes.

"Yes." Ryan laughs, and Em groans waving him away.

"There's a little bakery about a block and half to the left... The woman who owns it knows me... She might give you something if you tell her I sent you." He pulls his beanie off his head, and tosses it to Ryan. "She gave it to me, she'll recognize it."

"She might think I stole it." Ryan mutters, fingering the fabric of the hat. It's thick, and more than likely nice and warm, a good gift to give a homeless man. He can only hope this lady is willing to be a white whale once more. "I guess I'll just have to hope she trusts me." Ryan mutters as he leaves the little shack behind, heading out of the park in search of this bakery.

"Where did you get that?" A small woman standing outside of the bakery looks at Ryan coolly, and he takes the beanie from his head, turning it over and over in his hands, watching her assess him with a calculating look in her eye.

"Eminem gave it to me, said you'd recognize it as the one you gave him." He offers, and the woman smiles slightly.

"How is he? Is he okay?" She heads into the store, and wanders behind the counter, taking a box, starting to fill it with delicious and expensive looking cakes. Whatever Em did for this woman, she's very grateful to be so generous.

"He's... He seems okay, but you know what he's like." Ryan offers vaguely. He's not sure what else he can say about Em really. He only ever seems okay, you can never really tell how he is, because the scar will randomly start to hurt, or he'll grow pale and fragile, or his temper will fray and he'll snap or clam up. He's unpredictable.

"Yeah... He's a strange one." The woman pours two coffees, and hands Ryan a large bag, the box of cakes, and coffees inside. "He saved me from an armed robber." She smiles slightly, the expression soft and fond. "Refused to let me give him anything for weeks afterwards, but eventually I brought him around. Tell him to come see me next time." She waves Ryan out of the store, and he nods, leaving her with a quiet goodbye.

Another person, another tale of Em's contradictory goodness. There's entirely too much charity in him, too much altruism, too much white whale for a man in his situation, but Ryan supposes it's a fine complement to his own utter lack of compassion for most people he encounters. Em fits him almost scarily well, but Ryan isn't sure what he gives Em in return. There has to be some reason Em's allowed him to stay with him. Though, with Em it might just be that he saw letting Ryan hang around as an act of philanthropy, in all honesty Ryan wouldn't put that past him.

"Hey." Ryan pokes his head into the shelter, and pauses, staring at Em in surprise. He's curled up in a ball, trembling slightly, his skin pale, a sheen of sweat on the patches that are visible. "Hey..." Ryan approaches him carefully, gingerly touching his shin. "It's me, its Ryan... Em? Are you okay?" There's a miserable groan from Em, and Ryan creeps closer.

"Shh..." Em hisses softly, and Ryan reaches out to touch his forehead, surprised when Em allows the contact. He sits in silence for a long while, gently stroking Em's skin, quietly watching whatever episode he'd walked in on pass.

"You okay now?" Ryan asks once Em's stopped shaking, getting a vague nod, and Em's hand desperately reaching for his, squeezing tightly.

"I'm okay. Did you get breakfast?" Em sits up slowly, not relinquishing his hold on Ryan's fingers, if anything he's squeezing tighter.

"I did, got a whole box of stuff, and some coffee too." Ryan smiles, moving to sit by Em, their shoulders pressed tightly together. "Here, it'll be cold enough to drink by now. You know how takeaway coffee is, always too hot to drink when you first get it." Em lets Ryan's hand go to take the cup from him, sipping at the liquid inside. "Does that... Em, does that happen to you often?" Ryan watches Em fidget, fussing with the box of cakes he's pulled closer to himself.

"Not too often, just... Just when I think too much. It's... I don't know how to explain it." He sighs, curling in on himself, and picking at the cake he'd taken, nibbling at the mountain of frosting on top of it.

"What is it? I... How can I help if it happens again?" Ryan's not one for philanthropy, but Em is his, and he looks after the little he owns.

"I dunno." Em answers absently, chewing on his cake. "What you did was nice... No one's ever seen me like that before... I usually just hide out, and wait for it to pass, but what you did was good... It helped."

"I didn't do anything." Ryan takes a cake for himself, taking a bite from it, savoring its sweet deliciousness.

"You stayed with me, Ryan." Em murmurs softly, turning to look at him. "You stayed with me, and that's more than anyone has ever done for me."

The rest of the day, they potter around the city, hanging out close to the areas where the shelters are. It's too early for any of them to be open, but Ryan knows the one he wants them to spend the night in. The nicest of the bunch, the showers in cubicles, the dorms for sleeping in with fewer beds than the others, but they're comfortable, and altogether more private than the majority of the shelters in the city, so it fills up quickly. Ryan intends to hang about, and get them through the doors as soon as they're open.

Em seems quietly subdued, his mind clearly elsewhere, and whilst Ryan thinks that since last night he might be allowed to ask what Em's thinking about, he's not sure he's earned the right to be answered. Em has even less than Ryan that he can truly call his own. Ryan has his thoughts, he has his opinions, and he has his past. Em lacks that, his past is a void, and Ryan isn't sure if he pities or envies him for that. Forgetting the past would be a benefit, there are things Ryan's done that he's not proud of, but they're part of what makes him himself, so he wants them. They might shitty, but they're his, and he's keeping them.

"Ryan?" Em's voice shakes him from his thoughts, and Ryan glances over at him.

"Uh-huh?" Ryan empties some of the coins out of his cup for something to do, there's an air around Em, something heavy and dark, and Ryan's not too sure he wants to know what's caused it.

"I... I've been thinking-"

"What about?" Ryan interrupts. He's not sure he likes the idea of Em thinking too much. The episode in the lean-to lingers in his mind, Em's pale skin, his fragility. It's not how Ryan wants to see Em, he wants him to okay at least, not curled up in agony.

"I... It's getting late." Em stands, offering a hand down to Ryan, a smile on his lips. "We're aiming for that one hostel with the shower cubicles... Maybe we can share?" He winks, and starts walking, Ryan tailing him quickly. He's sure this isn't what Em had wanted to say, but he supposes that Em will tell him what's on his mind in due time, Ryan just has to wait him out.

The shower cubicle is small and cramped, but Ryan can't say he minds all that much. Em's sleek, wet body slides against his, their chest pressed together, their lips locked, one of Em's legs wrapped around Ryan's calves.

"Fuck... Want you." Em pants in Ryan's ear, sending shivers down his spine. "Want you to fuck me, Ryan. Want you inside me." Em's teeth scrape over his throat, and Ryan's hands trails down his back, groping at his ass. It looks pretty and firm, but it feels even better, firm with just the right amount of give. Em's skin is sleek despite the hair on his body, strands down his legs, over his chest to his groin, hair that matches Ryan's own in pattern if not color, he loves how contrary colors of their skin look against each other. Feeling Em's body against his own is nothing like feeling one of the dainty pretty boys he's picked up in hostels before, or the flabby middle-aged and older men that find Ryan attractive enough to pay for a fuck. They'd all been smooth, waxed or shaved out of their body hair as though it was something to be ashamed of, as though the fact that adults grow hair on their bodies was some kind of sin. Ryan's never quite understood the obsession scurriers have with removing their hair. It's strange to him, the bizarre idea that puberty shouldn't have happened, and that body hair is unsightly and should be exterminated has never resonated with Ryan. He likes the feel of the hair on Em's skin, likes the feel of it rubbing against his own, likes that Em feels like an adult.

"No here... Don't wanna fuck you here." Ryan murmurs in his ear, nipping at the lobe. "Wanna fuck you on a bed, wanna fuck you somewhere better than this... The first time's gotta be special." Ryan nips Em's earlobe again, and Em snorts against Ryan's throat, nibbling once more before pulling back to face Ryan.

"It's hardly the first time for either of us." Em smirks. The leg he had wrapped around Ryan's calves rises, wrapping around his hips instead, bringing Ryan's half-hard cock into contact with Em's own.

"It's our first time... I... I'll make us some money, get us a room." Ryan mutters, rutting against Em briefly. It's tempting to thrust against Em's length like this until they both come, but it's too risky. They've already been in the shower for a while; the staff will start to get suspicious soon enough.

"Urgh... Fine." Em groans, and steps away, starting to get washed quickly. Ryan reaches out to him, draws him closer, and pulls him into a kiss that leaves Em panting, and gazing at Ryan fondly. "You're a dick." Em laughs, and Ryan nods, kissing Em's scar.

"I am... And you're my asshole." Ryan laughs, and Em rolls his eyes at the thinly veiled innuendo of the joke.

"You assume that I'm bottoming." Em mutters, and Ryan squeezes his ass, then trails a finger between Em's asscheeks, teasing his hole, and smirking when Em rocks back against that one finger greedily.

"I assume right." Ryan kisses Em's temple, and lets him go. "C'mon, we better hurry." Em nods, kissing Ryan once more, this time slow and soft, the kind of kiss that leaves Ryan clinging to him tightly.

The dorm they're assigned to fills quickly, and Ryan's almost annoyed he'd not pushed for the little room he knows they have for couples, but he's staying with his conviction. He's not fucking Em until it's somewhere he's paid for, until is somewhere private. He's going to do this right for a change, not in some cramped shower stall in a shelter, but a bed, a real bed where it's only them, no outside distractions.

"Ryan?" Em's voice is muted, but Ryan can hear him loud and clear. It's almost as though his ears are highly tuned to pick out Em's voice no matter what.

"What?" Ryan reaches over the space between their beds, taking Em's hand when it's offered to him. It's a simple gesture, but for Ryan it means much more than he'd expected. This simple physical contact is a connection of Em, one he doesn't want to break.

"I need to go tomorrow morning... I... I've got a night with a client." He looks away, and Ryan squeezes his hand tightly, drawing Em's attention back to his face, a little smile flits over Em's lips. In the dim light, the stark white of the scar is brighter than ever, and it takes a lot of will power on Ryan's part to keep his gaze from that little mar on Em's forehead.

"The bruises on your face?" Ryan thinks that he should have phrased the question better, or tried to lure the information out more skillfully, but he's too tired, and too keen to know where and how Em was injured for eloquence.

"No... No damaging the goods." Em laughs softly, and Ryan stares at him. It might be the creed of all who sell themselves, but poverty's need for money can override almost any creed. "I got jumped on my way back to the spot... It's why I'm going back so soon... I... We need the money." Em sighs, his fingers tightening around Ryan's. "I'll get a fair bit even for one night, and I want to use it to get us a room somewhere for a little while." He smiles tentatively at Ryan.

"A room?" Ryan smiles, and Em nods. Ryan thinks he knows what Em's saying. He's up for doing something more than just staring, and teasing in a shower cubicle, and if Em wants to get the room, then Ryan supposes that's okay, it'll still be private, it'll still be just them, even if Ryan isn't footing the bill.

"Somewhere with just us... I..." He sighs, looking down awkwardly. "I can't take you staring at me anymore." He looks at Ryan through his lashes, a coy twist to his lips.

"I stare at you cause you're interesting, Em." Ryan leans over the edge of his bed, and presses his lips to the back of Em's hand. "You want me to show you just how interesting I find you?" Ryan laughs quietly.

"Hmm... Yeah, I do." Em smirks at him, and Ryan squeezes his hand once more, letting it go. The other homeless nearby are getting restless, he can hear them stirring; if he and Em talk much longer, their conversation will be interrupted by someone telling them to shut up. "I'm gonna go tomorrow morning, and see my client... I'll be back the next day though."

"I'll wait in the usual spot, look for somewhere cheap to stay while you're seeing." Ryan mutters, and Em nods, tugging the blankets up to his chin once more. "Don't make me wait too long, okay?"

"I'll be there, don't worry. G'night." Em yawns, and Ryan watches him in the half-light. He can't help but worry though. Tomorrow is going to be a day Ryan spends with an unsettled panic in his stomach, because more often than not being seen by scurriers isn't a good thing, and he can only hope that the one who sees Em is more white whale than scurrier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your encouraging comments. Hope you're enjoying this so far.


	6. Yesterday Went By So Quick, It Seems Like It Was Just Today

There is no such thing as perfection. It's a fallacy spread by the media of the world of the scurriers. Perfection is like satisfaction, utterly unobtainable. As soon as something is perfect, it becomes imperfect. By being attained, it immediately becomes tainted, and so no longer perfection.

Perfection isn't real, but then the world of scurriers is illusory, nothing is real in it, even their reality TV is scripted. For scurriers there is no need for reality to rudely intrude on the lives they're cultivating. They're comfortable with illusions, and self-deception. Truth terrifies scurriers, they can't face it, can't take criticism, can't take being disagreed with. They live in their worlds where they're right, where their delusions are the truth. Ryan lives in a world of realities, cold hard facts that you can't argue with.

That morning Em had slinked out of the shelter, leaving Ryan with nothing more than a slight smile, and a promise to return, but there's a chance that promise is nothing more than illusion. Prostitution is a dangerous profession for the homeless. They have nothing but themselves, and there are those who would seek to take even that from them. All day Ryan drifts from place to place, never really settling anywhere, feeling unnerved. It had been easier when Em was just gone, but now Ryan knows what he's gone to do, and he wants to stop him, wants to find something that's safer for him, for them both. His mental declaration that Em is his has made this nearly impossible to bear.

The scurriers don't see him. They note a person shaped lump, and those with the need to feel better about themselves drop him a few coins, but on the whole, they don't pay him any mind. They're too busy caught in their own lives, in their own illusions, delusions really, to see someone else. On the walls and billboards around him there's advertising for a myriad of things Ryan will never own or use, all being sold with illusions. Photoshop was a terrible invention, it lets scurriers delude themselves even more, it whitewashes the flaws of humanity into the grey mulch of their cities. Cookie cutter people, with cookie cutter lives, living in cookie cutter homes, on cookie cutter streets, in cookie cutter cities. None of them have ever experienced the dread and fear of not knowing what will happen in the way that Ryan has. On the streets, life is a gamble. One day you could roll a good hand and meet your needs with relative ease, the next you might be unlucky and find yourself going hungry once more.

Delusion might be a pleasant way to live. It affords you the ability to see sunshine and rainbows in the place of horrors and plights. It's something Ryan's almost envious of scurriers for. Going through life deluded would make things so much easier. If Ryan held delusions, he could make-believe that Em was somewhere safe, doing something safe, not being fucked by some unknown for money. That's a cold hard fact that Ryan's struggling with. Em should be somewhere safe, but he's not. The unknown is intrinsically unsafe, dangers lurk in the unknown, and Em being there worries him, keeps him from sleeping even though he retreats to the little lean-to that night.

"Hey, move over. Lemme in." Em's voice jars Ryan out of his contemplative daze, and he unwinds the blankets from around him enough to catch Em and pull him into his arms.

"This isn't the morning, nor is it where you were supposed to meet me." Ryan mumbles, his arms squeezing Em tightly, half convinced that this is nothing more than a dangerous delusion of his own. He wouldn't put it past his sleeping mind to conjure up Em to fill his arms.

"Dre is a sweet guy... Said I seemed too distracted to stay the night." Em mutters, kissing the underside of Ryan's jaw.

"Dre?" Ryan doesn't really want to know anything about the man who fucked Em, but it seems like Em remembers this guy's name, which is a surprise. If he's remembered, he must be important to Em.

"Yeah…He's a nice guy... He's gentle with me." Em mutters.

"Good." Ryan doesn't add that anyone who touches Em should be gentle with him, beneath the tough looking exterior, Em's a fragile creature of spun sugar, and should always be handled with care.

"Yeah... So, you miss me?" Em sounds softly sleepy, and Ryan kisses his head once more, squeezing him tightly for good measure.

"More than you realize." Ryan murmurs, but Em doesn't reply. His breathing is soft and regular, clearly fast asleep.

In the light of morning, Ryan slips from under Em, and goes to fetch something for breakfast with the little money he'd cobbled together yesterday from begging. He wants to provide for Em in some strange primitive way, like an animal providing for its mate. When he gets back to the shack, Em's still sleeping, and Ryan takes the opportunity to study his face, checking for any new bruises.

"You're staring at me." Em's eyes don't open as he talks, and Ryan sits down by his head, letting Em rest it on his thighs.

"You're interesting." Ryan answers absently, stroking Em's cheek. "I come bearing gifts."

"I can smell it." Em finally opens his eyes, and smiles up at Ryan. "Did you find somewhere to stay?" Em sits up, and kisses Ryan lightly on the cheek, taking the little paper bag of food, and a cup of cheap coffee.

"I did." In his wanderings, Ryan had found a little motel that was as cheap as it was dingy. It won't be the best place to make love to Em for the first time, but it'll be a lot better than it being in a cramped stall in a shelter, or even here in their improvised shack.

"So we eat, and then go? How much is it?" Em takes a bite of food after he speaks, a little smile creeping over his lips at the taste.

"Forty for a night." Ryan snags his own portion of food, starting to eat.

"Really? Hmm, we've got twenty to buy some food with then." Em grins, and Ryan smiles at him slightly.

"Food and some lube... Unless you've got some." Em shakes his head, and Ryan tenses up slightly. The idea of anyone taking Em dry makes bile rise in his throat.

"Dre provides. It's like I said, he's gentle with me..." Em sighs, and rests his chin in his palm, his elbow propped on his knee. "He treats me like a person. It's weird... Most other clients just want a hole to fuck, and that's it, but Dre... He talks about his kids, about his job, asks about me, how I'm doing, if I'm okay... He always gives me extra. He's a sweet guy... On the rotund side, but sweet, and gentle, and clever." Em smiles, and Ryan snorts. "He talks about interesting things." Em's smile takes on a slight leer, and Ryan rolls his eyes.

"He sounds great." It's an oddly bitter sounding tone that Ryan delivers that comment in, and Em chuckles at him.

"He pays me. You get me for free. There's a big difference, Ryan." Em touches Ryan's cheek, stroking his thumb over Ryan's lips. "You can have me whenever you like, he has to make appointments, and write them down on a little card for me."

"You're mine, Em... I don't wanna sh-"

"You have to, even if you don't want to, you have to share me, just like I have to share you, because we don't get any choice. If things were different, I wouldn't do this... If I had the choice, I wouldn't sell myself, I wouldn't let you sell yourself either, but choices aren't things we get many of." Em smiles miserably, and Ryan rests his hand on the back of his neck, stroking over Em's skin lightly.

"We get to choose some things, Em. We get to choose each other." The misery bleeds from Em's smile, and Ryan draws him into a kiss. "C'mon, eat up, then we'll head to a store, and buy provisions."

It's a strange luxury actually buying things. When they venture into stores it's usually for the purposes of theft, but it's rare that they bother with that. Em refuses to steal from Mom 'n' Pop stores, and the larger ones won't let them in. It's been so long Ryan can't actually remember the last time he went shoplifting. Em's curious moral compass is an odd thing to be guided by, it's counterproductive in many ways, but Ryan feels as though through Em's more altruistic choices, he's gaining a hint of white whale. They're careful with what they purchase, though Em doesn't object when Ryan adds a carton of ice cream to their basket. This whole thing is an indulgence. The money Em made they should be saving, or using for some better purpose, a motel room for a night, maybe two if they can sweet talk the guy behind the desk, isn't what they need. It's nothing more than indulging Ryan's curious desire to indulge Em, or maybe himself. He wants to fuck Em somewhere nice the first time, but Em had pointed out that this isn't the first time for either of them. They've both had sex in unpleasant surroundings; both have had it for money, something he's sharply reminded of when Em tosses a box of condoms into the basket. This isn't some fairytale romance, some prince bedding his princess of the first time. This is a man all but born on the streets, and never able to get off them, fucking a man with no past, a vague present, and a future shrouded in mystery. It's not the stuff of storybooks, but Ryan doesn't want to let their first time together be as grubby as every other time he's had sex. There's something about Em that makes him want to give him something soft, something nice, something better than they both have. Em is a flame, and Ryan is as helpless as moth before him, drawn to him, inexorably, inescapably, despite the danger he can't resist. There's almost no doubts in Ryan's mind that this relationship with Em is dangerous. It makes them both a target, it paints them both a humanized bull's-eye on their backs, but resisting is like fighting gravity. Ryan wants Em, and Em seems to want Ryan. It's one of those cold hard truths, but unlike of many of those, this one is tinged with something less unpleasant.

"This is the place?" Em mutters as they approach the shabby motel, and Ryan nods, almost wishing he'd found somewhere nicer, but knowing that would be out of their incredibly limited price range.

"Yeah... C'mon, you can work your charm on the manager." Ryan laughs, touching Em's fingers lightly, not quite taking his hand, but wanting a connection with him.

"I'll try... But my charm is dubious at best." Em mumbles, and Ryan shakes his head, not really sure how to reply.

The manager is as greasily unpleasant looking as he'd been yesterday, and he leers at them as they enter his office.

"Back again?" He smirks at Ryan, and Ryan can feel violence creeping up his spine. The man's eyes are lingering too long on Em, too long on Ryan as well, but Em is Ryan's priority.

"What's your rate?" Em leans over the desk, and Ryan hovers by his side, trying to keep a glare from his face.

"I get the feeling I could ask you the same thing, darlin'." The manager laughs, and Ryan digs his nails into his palms, hoping to keep from punching the greasy bastard.

"Hmm... Maybe, but I'm not working right now." Em's tone is odd, flirtatious, and Ryan doesn't like hearing it directed at anyone who isn't him.

"Some other day, maybe?" The manger's hand reaches out to Em's face, and Em stands up straight, a coy smile on his lips. "How much money you got, sweetness?"

"A fifty." Em sets the bill on the counter, his hand resting on top of it. The manager places a key down by Em's hand, and then rests his own on top of Em's.

"Two nights." The man smiles, and Ryan's sure he's broken the skin of his palms with his short, jaggedly bitten nails. "Maybe we can renegotiate something later." Em doesn't answer; he merely looks at the man thoughtfully.

"I'd like a receipt." He smiles, and the manager barks a laugh. Ryan supposes that Em wants the receipt as proof of the agreement, and he can't argue with Em's pragmatism, he wouldn't put it past this greasy man to try and back out of the deal come tomorrow.

"I'll need a name for book, darlin'." The manager smirks. Ryan steps closer, and takes the key, hovering close to Em's side.

"Montgomery. Marshall Montgomery." He snarls, and the manager laughs once more, but does write up a receipt for two nights, making a note of it in the logbook. He places the receipt in Em's hand, his fingers lingering over Em's, and Ryan makes a point of wrapping his arm wound Em's shoulders, staking his claim over him, as Em hands over the fifty.

"Two nights for fifty's a pretty good deal, huh?" Em smiles over at him once they've left the office, and Ryan nods, squeezing his shoulder lightly. "You know... Getting jealous over me trying to get us a good deal is kinda hot." Em's laughing at him, Ryan can hear it in his tone, but he doesn't mind, not really.

"Yeah, well... Get in." Ryan mutters, unlocking the door, and ushering Em into the room, locking it behind him firmly. The outside world doesn't exist, not anymore. Ryan intends to keep Em sequestered from reality for the next two nights. It's going to be them, their food, and using all of the condoms they bought. Ryan intends to revel in Em's body, but first they're going to shower. At least that was Ryan's plan, because Em has other ideas. As soon as the door is locked, Em grabs Ryan's shoulders, and turns him around, then presses him back against the thin door with a fierce kiss. It's rough, with nipping, and suckling, hands in hair, or trying to force their way under many layers of clothing. "C'mon, lemme get undressed... I wanna take a shower before we get down to it." Ryan murmurs between frenzied kisses. Em steps away from him, and starts the complicated process of peeling his layers of clothing off, his gaze heavy on Ryan as he watches Ryan stripping his own clothing off.

"C'mere." Em reaches out of him once they're both naked, and Ryan steps closer, letting Em wrap his arms around him, kissing him once more. Unlike the first round of kissing this kiss is slow, careful, sensual. Hands that had been harsh and demanding are now gentle in their explorations, caressing uncovered skin with almost reverence.

Em steps away, taking Ryan's hand, leading him to the little bathroom. In the room, there's little more than a toilet, sink, and a small shower cubicle, thankfully above the sink there's a shelf with some towels, and affixed to the wall is a dispenser. Em flicks the shower on, and hangs back, waiting for the water to heat up. Once it's heated up, he drags Ryan into the cramped stall with him, wrapping himself around Ryan's body, kissing him once more.

"Washing? We gonna be doing any of that?" Ryan laughs. Once they've washed, Em sinks to his knees in front of Ryan, and smirks up at him, taking a hold of his cock. "Em?"

"What?" He smiles innocently, and laps at Ryan's balls, sucking one into his mouth, his hand still slowly jerking Ryan's cock.

"I'm not looking to come so soon..." Ryan mutters, his hands coming to rest on Em's head. Em moves on to Ryan's other ball, suckling on it, drawing it down, bathing the sack with his tongue. He's always enjoyed attention to his nuts, but it's not something Ryan gets to experience all that often, and whilst there's part of him that wants to draw Em up, and relocate to the bed, there's a bigger part that's moaning softly as Em's clever little tongue laps at his sack, and his thin fingers stroke his cock. "Enough." Ryan steps as far from Em as he can, he really will come long before he wants to if he lets this continue.

"Hmm... Later? Later, I'm gonna make you come like that." Em gets to his feet gracelessly, and kisses Ryan. "So, bed?" He smirks. Ryan shuts the water off, and opens the cubicle door, snagging a towel from the shelf. He hands it to Em, and then takes one for himself.

"Yeah, later." Ryan dries off quickly, and leads Em to the bed. Em flops down on to his back, his legs parting slightly. Ryan grabs the lube, and condoms from the bag on the floor, and gets on the bed between Em's legs, stroking up his shins against the grain of the hair growing there.  
"You're pretty all laid out like this." Ryan mutters, trailing his fingers over Em's thighs.

"You're really gonna do this all slow?" Em rolls his eyes as he talks, and arches his back slightly. The ugly floral bedspread's garish colours look jarringly unattractive when compared to the pale skin, and tattoos on Em's body, but Em is a far more interesting sight than the linen. His smile is soft and sweet, his eyes hazy and mellow, his cock half-hard, the hair of his groin thick and dark, and Ryan runs his fingers through it, tugging lightly on the strands, hearing Em almost whine.

"Uh-huh... Gonna do this proper." Ryan mutters, leaning over Em, and claiming his mouth with a slow, deep kiss. Em moans into the kiss, rubbing their cocks together.

"Proper? I'm more for getting down and dirty." Em laughs, as Ryan starts nibbling at the skin over his collarbone, his hands on Ryan's head, nails scratching at his scalp.

"We got two days, Em... Slow and steady to start." Ryan murmurs, worrying a little mark on the side of Em's neck, lapping over it, and moaning when Em's hands trail down to his shoulders.

"I could argue the other way... We've got time for your tortoise bullshit later... Be a hare for me?" Em laughs, and Ryan moves down his body, suckling at one of his nipples.

"Aesop's fables do not make for good conversation during sex, Em." Ryan laughs softly, blowing at Em's peaked nipple.

"Then pick it up." Em squirms beneath him, and Ryan moves up him once more, kissing Em again, then rolls them over, letting Em settle on his hips.

"You're an impatient man." Ryan rests his hands on Em's hips, smirking when Em stares down at him in slight confusion. "You wanna be in charge? Well, here you go, set your own pace."

"My own pace you will object to, and I can be plenty slow when I like." Em leans down, and nips at one of Ryan's nipples. He slowly works his way down Ryan's chest, trailing nipping kisses down his stomach, then further to once more start laving at his balls. Ryan groans softly, cursing his decision to let Em control this, because it seems he intends to do nothing but torment Ryan.

"You're a monster." Ryan moans, his hands on Em's head, not sure if he wants to pull him up, or guide him to take Ryan's cock in his mouth.

"Hmm?" Em hums with Ryan's ball still in his mouth, the vibrations feeling incredibly good.

"Stop... Stop..." Em hums once more at Ryan's words, and Ryan flicks his ear, making Em stop teasing his balls to glare up at Ryan. "You're a monster." Ryan repeats with smile.

"Don't mess with my ears." Em rubs the offended flesh lightly, and Ryan smirks at him.

"Weak spot?" Ryan runs a finger along the shell of Em's ear, and he ducks away from Ryan's touch.

"I don't like it." He frowns, and Ryan nods, silently promising to not touch Em's ears again. If he doesn't like it, there's no point in it, Ryan wants this to be a pleasant experience for both of them, he doesn't want something so small to taint it for Em.

"Alright." Ryan reaches out to Em, a flood of relief filling his gut when Em rests his cheek against Ryan's palm. "You like this though, don't you?" Ryan strokes his thumb over Em's eyebrow, then ghosts it over the bottom of the scar. Em nods slightly, his eyes falling closed. "Can you feel it when I touch it?" This time Ryan traces a finger along the scar, feeling the difference in texture between it and the rest of Em's forehead.

"A little... It's more like I can feel around it." Em doesn't open his eyes, and Ryan leans up, placing a barely there kiss to the scar. "I can feel it when it hurts, and that's about it."

"Like Harry Potter." Ryan laughs, and Em looks at him a little blankly. Pop culture must have been something Em had forgotten, and not had time to reclaim. Ryan knows of Harry Potter thanks to advertising, and then reading the books in the library. In the winter, Detroit is cold, and libraries are warm with plenty to do, Ryan's a big fan of them. "You can read the books." Ryan smiles, and Em shrugs, his expression stating that he has no interest in reading any of them. "Come up here, lemme kiss you." Ryan guides Em to lie over him, kissing him languidly, stroking his hands down Em's back to cup his ass.

"C'mon, enough stalling." Em slips from Ryan's arms, and lies on his back once more. His hands make a grab for the lube, and he presses the bottle into Ryan's hand. Ryan takes it, and settles between Em's thighs. He coats a finger, then meets Em's eyes.

"You ready?" Ryan knows that asking is pointless, but it feels like the right thing to do, and Em nods at him, his legs spreading a little more. Em's ass offers little resistance, but it clings to Ryan's finger, though that's clearly through experience, rather than lack of use. Em knows how to work his ass to make it feel good, knows how to tighten his muscles to make himself tighter, that's the lesson he's trying to teach Ryan. He's learned how to be a good fuck, and as the muscles of his ass tighten and relax around Ryan's finger rhythmically, Ryan can't help but envision the feeling around his cock.

"Turn round?" Em's wearing a slight smirk when Ryan looks up at him, and Ryan does as he asks, moving to straddle him, his cock in Em's face. He slips two fingers inside Em this time, and bites back a moan as Em's tongue laps tentatively at the head of his cock. The long, spidery fingers that wrap around the shaft rob Ryan of his focus, and he has to still his ministrations to Em's hole whilst he thrusts into the tight grip on his cock. By the end of these two days, Ryan's certain he's going to make use of Em's mouth more than once. He seems to have slight oral fixation, and Ryan intends to indulge him, but not now, because now Ryan wants to be inside Em's ass.

"Hey, condom?" Ryan look over his shoulder towards Em. There's a low moan, and Em lets Ryan's cock slip from his mouth.

"You're intent on not letting me suck you off, aren't you?" Em snaps, but there's a laugh in his voice, and Ryan smiles at him, thrusting his fingers against Em's prostate, wiping the mild annoyance from his expression. Em grabs the box of condoms from beside him, takes one out, opens it, and slides it down Ryan's dick. His moans are quietly breathy as Ryan pulls his fingers from inside of him. Ryan's sure that Em would have been ready with half as much prep, but he wants this to feel good, he wants this to be nothing like being fucked by a client. As much as he hates delusions, he wants this to be like being taken for the first time for Em. He moves, settling between Em's spread legs, and coats his sheathed cock in lube.

"Hey, Em..." Ryan mutters, drawing Em's attention to him. Em's eyes are soft, the blue of his irises almost swallowed up by the black of his pupils. "Do you remember your first time?"

"My first time, or my first time?" He asks softly, his eyes half-closed as Ryan penetrates him. Even with the time rubber separating them, Em's heat, the feeling of his tight body is almost too much, and Ryan stills with just the tip of his cock inside.

"Your first time." Ryan stresses the your, he already knows that Marshall's first time will be a mystery, everything of who Em was is. "Was it good? Did they look after you?"

"No." Em shakes his head, his eyes fully closing. "It... It wasn't good." His voice is soft, and Ryan kisses his temple easing a little deeper into him.

"Neither was mine." Ryan whispers into his ear, and sinks into Em fully. Em moans beneath him, and Ryan lifts his face from where it was pressed against the side of Em's neck.

"I'm sorry." Em sounds so earnest, and Ryan laughs softly. He'd long ago accepted his introduction to sex. "I..."

"I'll tell you the story, but not today." Ryan withdraws a little, rocking back in slowly, repeating the shallow movements, unwilling to draw out of Em too far. It's a delusion, but joined like this, Ryan feels connected to Em, more than just physically, but emotionally too. "Today is about us, who we are. What happened isn't important, right now all that matters is what's happening." Ryan smiles, and Em nods, his back arching, his hips moving with Ryan's.

"Hmm..." Em smiles at him, and draws Ryan down for a slow kiss, one that matches the gentle rhythm of their hips, a kiss that builds as the speed of Ryan's thrusts do. The kiss lasts until Ryan pulls back, shifting slightly to put more power and speed behind his hips, taking Em more forcefully, claiming him. Each movement is a declaration of ownership in Ryan's mind, and the way Em moves and arches into each thrust is an acceptance of Ryan's stake of claiming. "Out." Em says suddenly, and Ryan withdraws from his body, watching as Em turns to rest on his knees and elbows. He turns to look at Ryan over his shoulder, a coy little smirk on his lips. "Fuck me." Ryan slides back into Em, and takes a firm grasp of his hips, fucking him as he had ordered, pounding down into Em's clenching hole, drawing gasping moans from him.

"Don't wanna come like this." Ryan mutters, against Em's shoulder, nipping at the skin. "Wanna see your face." Em huffs slightly, his hand has been working his cock for a good long while, and Ryan thinks he's close.

"Alright... "Ryan withdraws once more, and Em turns to lie on his back again. Ryan's quickly between his legs once more, but this time Em rests them on Ryan's shoulders, letting Ryan all but fold him in half, his cock trapped between their stomachs.

"You gonna be able to get off like this?" Ryan asks, but Em doesn't answer. His pupils are blown wide, his mouth hanging open, panting breathy moans are all he seems capable of offering Ryan as a response. "I'll take that as a yes." Ryan smirks, and presses closer, fucking Em harder, deeper, driving his cock into Em's ass with practiced skill. Em's hand squirms between them, stroking his cock in time with Ryan's unruly thrusts. The rhythm Ryan had once had is lost to the need to come; the need for completion outweighs finesse. Em comes first, with a sharp little moan. If he articulated anything in particular Ryan isn't sure, because all he can focus on is the churning need in his balls, and the tight warmth of Em's body. When he comes Ryan's quiet out of habit, his face pressed against Em's neck, hearing his breath still panted as he comes down from his orgasm. A lazy smile finds its way to Ryan's lips as he pulls out of Em, carefully removing the condom, and tossing it into the trash. Ryan lies on his back regarding the ceiling, feeling Em's presence beside him, not entirely sure what to do, but enjoying the pleasant silence between them.

"You think the TV works?" Em's voice jars Ryan from his daze, and he turns to look at him. Em looks sweaty and tired, his cheeks flushed, his lips twisted in a content smile.

"No idea." Ryan offers, sitting up against the pillows, and reaching for the remote. Em slips off the bed on weak legs, and plugs the set in, switching the power on. He snags the bag of food on the way past, and picks out the melted ice cream. He tosses two spoons from beside the kettle and free packet coffee to Ryan, then curls up beside him. "Hey... Look at that." Ryan laughs, and Em looks up from carefully opening the ice cream. "Harry Potter's on." Ryan wraps an arm around Em's shoulders, and they settle down to watch the movie.

The rest of the day, they watch TV, and make love again. It's more, and more like love making, slower, more sensuous, not something Ryan's ever experienced, and if Em ever has it doesn't show. He's sweetly clingy when he's just come, and Ryan finds he enjoys petting Em's short hair in a post-orgasmic bliss far more than he'd expected. That night when they fall asleep, it's in just that the comfortable bliss of having come with someone you love, their bodies tired but satisfied, and the scent of sex clinging to the air.

"Hey." Em's voice is the first thing Ryan hears in the morning. He's sitting on the flimsy wooden chair near the window, sipping at the contents of a cup. The curtains are closed, but they merely tint the light streaming through a sickly shade of yellow, letting shadows cling to Em's face.

"Morning." Ryan sits up. He looks Em over carefully, trying to work out his mood based on his appearance. One of the blankets from the bed is wrapped around him like a shambolic toga; his bare toes are lazily wriggling every so often. He looks relaxed, tranquil, and Ryan's happy about that. Yesterday had been good, something he wants again, something he wants far more often than he can have it, but they've this room for today as well, and whilst it might be lazy to take another day out of their reality to live in this little delusion, Ryan intends to indulge in it fully.

"Yeah, morning." Em slips off the chair, and clambers on to the bed with Ryan, his hand curving around his face, resting their foreheads together. "You sleep okay?"

"Like the dead." Ryan murmurs, his eyes drifting closed. This moment isn't real. Once they leave this little room they'll be back on the streets, back in the world of the homeless, back to reality, but in this moment Ryan can pretend that this is his scurrier home, that the hot water supply is his, that slightly too soft mattress beneath him is his, that the ugly curtains are drawn over his window.

"Hmm... Good." Em kisses him softly, letting Ryan take control of it easily. Everything in this dingy motel room is only pretend, none of the things in it are Ryan's, he knows that. Any concept of ownership over anything but Em is illusory, because Em is his, because he is Em's, and that the one thing he doesn't need to pretend, that is a cold hard fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need more fanfic about them. :(


	7. I Need a Doctor

He'd been sick for a while, and though Em had been putting a brave face on it for his lover, he'd known this illness wasn't one he'd recover from, not on his own at least. The doctor at the free clinic had assured them on more than once that it was just a cold, something that could be cleared up with time, and antibiotics. Ryan had always been skeptical, Em had been too, but unlike Ryan, he'd kept his thoughts to himself. It was chance, or maybe Ryan's obsessive need to keep Em around that had led to them going back to the clinic for another visit. It had been surprisingly deserted, the usual doctor not there as it's Christmas, and he's undoubtedly comfortably in his home, eating, drinking, and making merry. Three things that aren't options for Em and Ryan. Three things that are denied to them more often than not due to their situation.

Being homeless isn't something he's happy about, but there's not much Em can do about it. He has no skills beyond what the streets have taught him, no options beyond the ones presented by those same streets. Some unknown to him time ago, something happened to Em leaving him with a scar on his forehead, and a vast blank space where his life from before the scar should be. He'd been on the streets a good long time before Ryan had crossed his path, and like every other person he'd encountered, Em had expected Ryan to fade into the white noise of his damaged brain. Only Ryan refused to be engulfed by the static. Ryan had been determined to make himself a part of Em's existence. From almost the day they met, Ryan has been saving Em's life, and now by forcing him to this clinic, he saved it quite literally once more. Only this time something else has come with this salvation, and Em has no idea what to do about it.

"What was it?" Ryan looks worried as Em almost stumbles out of the doctor's office. It's a far bigger question than Ryan realizes, and Em shakes his head. Ryan's arm is around his shoulders, and they're leaving the clinic, emerging onto the street before Em can even think to ask for a cup of coffee from the woman behind the desk. A free cup of coffee had been his entire motivation for coming to the clinic in the first place. It's too late to turn back now though, and Em keeps moving forward.

"He knew me... Knew me before the accident." He murmurs, rubbing at his face tiredly. Ryan looks over at Em, his eyes wide. "He knows everything about me. He could tell me everything, Ryan, everything." Em smiles awkwardly, he can feel how strained the expression must look, because he feels strained. The doctor knew him. No one has ever known him before. Ryan looks genuinely surprised for a few moments, then his eyes narrow.

"Did he want anything?" The possessive edge to Ryan's voice drags a smile to Em's lips, and he shakes his head. The doctor didn't seem to want anything, but Em isn't a good reader of people. He's lost the ability to understand certain social cues that children learn to pick up on. It's easy to lie to Em, easy to betray him, so he doesn't let people close to spare himself pain that can be easily avoided. Ryan has never lied to Em, has never betrayed him, and at this stage in their relationship Em is certain that Ryan never will. There's a bond between them, an understanding that the brutality of betrayal is one that they'll spare each other by being faithful, and honest with one another.

"He... He gave me money, insisted I take it, get somewhere to stay for a few days to give me a chance to heal." Em's hand is in his pocket, and he leads Ryan over to a doorway, showing him the roll of hundreds in his pocket.

"Fuck..." Ryan breathes out slowly, and Em nods, pocketing the cash once more. The money he showed Ryan isn't all of the notes the doctor gave him. The rest of the cash is hidden in a little pocket in one of the many sweaters Em wears to try to keep the biting wind at bay. He'll reveal the truth of the amount of money later, once they're somewhere more secure than a blustery street corner.

"If we get somewhere cheap, a motel or something, it'll last a while, right?" Ryan nods in response to Em's question. The doctor had been adamant that Em stay somewhere warm, and dry for a few nights at least, and Em's inclined to agree with the advice offered by the doctor.

"Yeah... I know just the place." Ryan presses a kiss to the scar on Em's forehead. Em's never been entirely sure why Ryan always places kisses there. He can't feel them, not really, only the ghost of the sensation, but Ryan is always careful to kiss that particular spot, his lips always brushing over it almost reverently. It's almost as though he's silently thankful that scar exists because it's proof that Em is still alive.

"Lead the way then." Em mutters, falling into step with Ryan once more. His arm is wrapped tightly around Em's waist as they make their way to some nearby motel. Their progress is slow, because despite feeling better than he has in months, Em's still tired, even more tired than he was before the trip to the clinic. He'd like nothing more than to collapse to the ground and sleep, but Ryan's arm is keeping him upright, and the money in his pockets is keeping him walking. It's more money than he's ever held, more money than he's ever seen, and it's all his, given to him by the doctor who knew him.

For all he's thought about it, for all he's wanted to meet someone who knew him before the accident, he'd never really expected to find a person who'd known Marshall. Now that he has, he's no idea what to think, or to do. It'd be so very easy to let this all go, so very easy to let this be forgotten, but he has the terrible feeling that Dr Holton won't be forgotten easily, if only because Em has his name, address, and telephone number on a scrap of paper in his pocket, nothing sticks in his mind quite like written information. Once something is written down it refuses to sink into the static of Em's mind.

"Gimme some of that money, and I'll get us a room." Ryan props Em up against a wall, and Em blinks at him slowly. He's not sure he has the energy to even stay leaning against the wall, his knees feel weak, his mind hazy, leaning seems like a task far beyond him in that moment. "Em…" Ryan's hand cups his cheek, and Em pulls some money off the roll of hundreds the doctor had given him. It's so much money, that doctor and Marshall must have been close for him to hand Em over so much cash. "I'll get us a room for as long as I can. You just stay here, alright?" Ryan presses a quick kiss to Em's forehead, and vanishes inside the little office.

What happened to you Marshall?

Em closes his eyes, the doctor's voice echoing in his mind. He'd been so worried, had sounded so genuinely concerned, and Em can't process it. He's no idea what to do in this situation. He supposes he could talk to Ryan, but what he'd say Em has no idea. Ryan would try to understand, but he'd fail. No matter how much Ryan tries, he never quite comprehends what it's like to be Em. They both have so very little, but Ryan has something that Em doesn't. Ryan has his past, for better or worse, Ryan knows where he came from. Every horror, every tragedy, every slight, every pain, Ryan has locked away in his mind, but all Em has is a blank space. A few snatched memories from the hospital, and some fuzzy feelings from before. He doesn't have memories from his time as Marshall, but sometimes he'll feel something like the ghost of one. He'll be somewhere and a feeling almost like déjà vu will come over him, the barest hint of a feeling that where he is, or what he's doing is familiar.

"Hey? You okay?" Ryan's hand is under his chin, tipping his face up, and Em forces a slight smile to his lips.

"I'm just tired." He mutters, and Ryan nods, pulling him close, squeezing him lightly.

"C'mon then. Let's get you to bed." Ryan starts walking slowly once more, his arm tight around Em. He enjoys being pressed against Ryan far more than he perhaps should, but Ryan's the only real human contact Em's ever had. Ryan is the only person Em has found himself compelled to. Whilst he's plenty fond of other people, Ryan is the only person Em has wanted to touch him, the only person he'd wanted to stay with him, the only person he'd wanted to remember. Other people are hazy collections of features, vague shapes not important enough to put the effort in that Em needs to to remember things, but Ryan is worth that effort, he's worth that and so much more.

The motel room is small, dimly lit with a single bulb hidden in a grimly shade, but the bed looks surprisingly clean and comfortable, which is the only thing Em cares about. He feels weak, like every ounce of strength has been drained from him along with the pus in that infection. The words the doctor had said to him keep echoing in his mind. Quiet words of recognition, quiet words of hope that'd changed to resignation so quickly when Em had told him the truth. The doctor had been so insistent, had literally forced Em to take the money, his phone number, his address. The money Em has no doubts he and Ryan will make use of, the number and address are burning a hole in his pocket, and despite thinking of them so much, he's still no idea what he'll do with them.

If you have any questions about who you were, come and see me. Call me first though, make sure I'm home, okay?

Em has questions, so many questions, but he's not sure he wants the answers. Who he was has always plagued him, and knowing would lay those thoughts to rest, but they might conjure up new thoughts, new problems. Marshall hadn't been loved by anyone enough for them to look for him. There'd been no one there, no one to stop Em from leaving the hospital, and ending up on the streets. Going back to being Marshall isn't something Em wants to do. Em's loved, he's adored, and in turn he loves, and adores. Ryan's more than Em's lover, he's Em's reason to keep going. If it wasn't for Ryan, he'd have curled up and let the infection take him long ago, but because of Ryan, he'd kept fighting as much as he could. In forcing him to go to the clinic again, Ryan saved his life. In truth Em's lost count of how many times Ryan's saved him, more than Ryan will ever realise of that Em's certain.

"Hey... C'mon, let's get you cleaned up." Ryan's voice startles him far more than he'd like to admit, and he glances up at his lover. "Em... You okay?"

"Tired." Em yawns, and Ryan smiles softly, his hand cupping Em's cheek.

"Yeah... I know, but we've got a clean bed to sleep in tonight." Ryan's smile always fills Em with warmth. It's the kind of smile that should have been beaten out of him by his life, but it's still there, clinging with a determination matched solely by Ryan's own. "Don't want to be making it all dirty on the first night."

"You sure about that?" The smirking leer Em tries for clearly fails when all Ryan does is level him with an unimpressed gaze. "I can't get my back wet." Em yawns again, and Ryan nods vaguely, guiding him to the little bathroom.

"Sponge bath?" Ryan chuckles, filling the sink with warm water, and tossing a washcloth into it.  
"Sit down, you look like you're gonna fall over." Em sits heavily on the toilet lid, and watches Ryan start to strip. Life on the streets has left its mark on Ryan's skin, scars and odd imperfections litter his skin, but beneath that damaged skin there's sleek, lean muscle. A naked Ryan is something that even now, years after he first saw it, still captures Em's attention. Usually at least, not tonight though. Tonight he's too tired, he's too sore, and all he wants is to curl up and sleep. "Get cleaned up, I'll take a shower."

"No fair." Em mutters, yawning once more. There's a strange lethargy in him, a kind of bone deep weariness that makes him want to curl up and fall asleep, but Ryan's right. For their first night in what is their bed for a little while at least they should be clean.

"Too bad, Em. You said yourself that you can't get your back wet." Ryan smirks, and comes closer to him, his hand resting on the top of Em's head. "Get undressed, and I'll clean you up first." Em blinks stupidly at him, and manages a slight nod. "Do you need to take that medication tonight?"

"Yeah... First dose I should probably take soon as possible." His words are barely out before he yawns once more, his eyes drifting closed. Now that he's sitting, and warm, sleep seems so very attainable.

"Hey, hey. No sleeping on the toilet." The next thing Em's aware of is Ryan crouching in front of him, a pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other. "Take this." He pops the little pill into Em's mouth, and then holds the glass to his lips, letting him drink. "C'mon, clothes off." Ryan's fingers start working at pulling the layers of clothes off of Em's body. Whilst he tries to help, it really seems more like Em's hindering the process. It feels like that along with the infected pus, the doctor squeezed out Em's coordination, his fingers feel thick and useless. In the end, Ryan bats his hands out of the way, and strips Em himself, the job made much easier with Em not helping.

The process of getting clean isn't one Em really remembers, he's lying tucked up in bed in what feels like no time, with only the sounds of Ryan showering filling the little motel room. The little slip of paper the doctor gave him is sitting on the nightstand by the bed, the looping script clearly visible despite the darkness of the room.

I'm sorry, Marshall. I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do, anything you need... Anything at all, call me, okay? Please... Just call me.

He'd looked so worried, so earnest as he'd said those words to him. This doctor cares, at least he seemed to when faced with how far the person he knew as Marshall had fallen. There's so much of Em that wants to crumple that little slip of paper up, and throw it away. The past, his past is something best forgotten, something best left to the annals of history. Marshall wasn't a good person; if he had been, he wouldn't have been alone in that hospital. If Marshall had been a good person, there would have been people there for him. If Marshall had been a good person, there wouldn't be Em, but if there weren't Em, he wouldn't be in this motel room. If Marshall had been a good person, Em wouldn't have Ryan. He's not going to gain anything from learning who Marshall was, at least Em doesn't think he will, but there's so much he could lose, and he's not certain he could take losing anything else.

"You gonna call him?" Ryan's voice drags Em from his thoughts. He slips into bed behind Em; one hand comes to rest on Em's hip, stroking the skin there lightly.

"I dunno." Em mutters, turning to lie on his other side, facing Ryan.

"Hmm..." Ryan's hand moves up to stroke a finger over Em's eyebrow, gently brushing over the scar on his forehead. "I think you will." He says plainly, and Em shrugs awkwardly.

"I might, I dunno." Em moves a little closer to Ryan, pressing his face against Ryan's shoulder. "I don't know if I want to know what he can tell me."

"You do, but you're scared, Em." Ryan's arm slips under Em, pulling him closer. "Your pages could be filled in for you. You could have your whole story, don't you want that?"

"I think you want it more than me to be honest." Em mumbles, and Ryan laughs.

"Maybe... You're a riddle, wrapped in an enigma, topped off with a mysterious bow." He kisses Em's hair, and makes a quietly contented noise. "But I want you to know for yourself more than I want to know for me." He says softly, and Em sighs, nodding against Ryan's chest. "It's important to you, so it's important to me, and you know no matter what he tells you, I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere, Em."

"I know." Em murmurs, kissing Ryan's chest lightly. "I'll think about it." Another yawn comes over him, and Ryan laughs, the noise a slight rumble under Em's ear.

"Get some sleep. Tomorrow I'll go start looking for some work. I want to keep this place till you're better, and I don't know how long that money's gonna last." A worried tone creeps into Ryan's voice, and Em closes his eyes, loses himself in the feeling of Ryan's love. "I was scared I was going to lose you." He admits quietly, and Em winces. He'd been scared too, but not of dying, he'd almost resigned himself to the inevitability of whatever had been wrong killing him. What Em had been scared of was leaving Ryan alone. There'd been a fearful part of him that had been convinced that Ryan would try to follow him into death. Life is something that Ryan puts a lot of thought into, something he ponders over endlessly. They've had many long rambling conversations about how Ryan feels about the world around them, about the people they see, about his scurriers, but they rarely talk about death. Em doesn't think Ryan's afraid of dying, not really at least, rather Em thinks Ryan avoids thinking about it, because it's inevitable. There's nothing to be gained from dying, the only gains that you can make are in living. Ryan's made it very clear, over and over again, that without Em he'd have very little to keep going on for. Em's a mystery, and Ryan loves mysteries. He loves to think things over, loves to puzzle out answers, and Em is a riddle with no easy solution. Em doesn't know the answers to Ryan's questions, so there's no way to solve him. If Em had died, Ryan would have lost his great conundrum, and Em had worried that without that Ryan would have sought death too.

"I'm right here." Em yawns. He doesn't have a real answer or response to Ryan's comment. He's not going anywhere, that doctor saved his life. The infection's been removed, and the new course of medication will fix him up. He'll be fine, he'll live, but there's something else the doctor can do for Ryan along with saving Em's life. That doctor can solve the riddle of who Em is, the only problem is Em isn't sure he wants an answer to that riddle. "Ryan?"

"Yeah?" Ryan sounds awake, his voice soft but alert. Em almost wants to reassure him that he's fine, but he can tell that this'll be a night where Ryan barely sleeps for fear of something taking Em from him. There've been many nights where Ryan's forgone sleep in favour of holding vigil over Em against the infection, and even though it's been treated, old habits die-hard, no amount of reassurance will bring sleep to Ryan easily tonight.

"If I go... If I find out who I was, will you still stay with me?" Em squeezes his eyes closed tighter, and buries himself closer to Ryan. It feels like a stupid question, and the quiet laugh Ryan gives makes Em feel like a fool for asking.

"I love you, you idiot. I'm not going anywhere." Ryan kisses the top of Em's head, and Em fidgets slightly. It's easy to say that. It's easy to be convinced of something that you can't begin to fathom. 

The truth of who Marshall was might be terrible. He might have been nothing more than a monster, and that's why he was abandoned, but Em can't bring himself to argue not right now, not when he's so tired. "Go to sleep. I'm not going anywhere." Ryan repeats his words, and Em nods, settling into sleep. As good as it is to hear I love you, that's not the phrase Em needs to hear most of the time. Being loved is wonderful, he won't deny that, but for him I'm not going anywhere is more important. For Em being alone was a necessity, but not one he'd ever enjoyed. Waking up in that hospital alone had been terrifying, leaving it so easily had been brutally painful. He'd left knowing no one was there for him, he'd left knowing nothing of who he was, nothing of how the world worked, nothing at all. He'd been alone, brutally alone, and horribly vulnerable. He'd been afraid, so afraid for so long, but then he'd met Ryan. Ryan who'd hung around even when he didn't have to. Ryan who'd been impossible to shake off. Ryan who'd stayed. Ryan who wasn't going anywhere.


	8. God

Scurriers are strange creatures. The subdivisions they fall into at times confound Ryan. He's observed so many odd little factions of them. Capitalists, socialists, philosophers, scientists, sheep, all different factions of the great scurrying masses. Some factions recruit from the white whales, and the ones that do puzzle him the most. The biggest crossover faction by far is the religionists.

Religion isn't a concept Ryan has ever gotten behind. In all of his contemplations on the conundrum of life, he's never found a spot for a creator. If there is a God, it's a merciless deity, one that offers no reward to its devotees. Religious people, be they scurriers, white whales, or homeless are mysteries to Ryan. Faith, belief is something so powerful, but given away so cheaply. The lives of those who are religious are lives led by cowards. Lives spent trusting in some invisible force, lives spent being unable to face up to the realities of the fact they are ultimately responsible for their own actions, the fact that life isn't fair, there's no Final Judgement, good people aren't always rewarded, and the wicked don't always face justice. People live one life, then they die. No gods, no heroes. That's the way of the world Ryan lives in. He doesn't have time to place his faith in imaginary beings in the sky, or the rocks, or wherever it is the religionists think their deity hides. For Ryan there are facts, cold hard facts. No gods, and no heroes, there's no room for them.

There'd been no god to pray to as he'd watched Em sleep with the infection, his skin burning with a clammy fever. There'd been no hope of a hero during the days that Ryan had been convinced that he'd lose his lover. As much as he'd been certain that he'd fight Death itself to keep Em, he'd been sure he might actually have had to. It'd been close. When the doctor had said that Em could have, should have died, Ryan's heart had been in his throat. He'd been aware that Em was close to death, but that close, so close that a doctor was surprised he was still alive, had left Ryan with dread. Em dying had been a real, and likely outcome of that lump. There might be no god in Ryan's life, but in that moment he'd offered gratitude to something, what he wasn't sure, but definitely something, medicine and that doctor more than likely.

There's no god in Ryan's world, but there is science, and science had saved Em. Now it's down to Ryan to keep Em alive, to keep him safe whilst he heals. The aftermath of this illness is something Ryan's uncertain of. It's not likely that with the pus squeezed out Em will be right as rain tomorrow. It's far more likely that recovery will take time, time that Ryan wants Em to spend somewhere with a roof, somewhere warm, somewhere dry. He won't let Em end up back on the streets. The money the doctor gave Em is a start, but it's finite. It won't last forever, so Ryan's going to have to find some way to keep topping it up. This motel room isn't much, but for now, it's something, and Ryan means to hold on to it for as long as possible.

That night Ryan can't sleep. They have a roof over their head for their heads for the first time in years. No matter how much they save from the various enterprises they engage in, neither Ryan nor Em ever seem to have enough money gathered to keep a motel room for more than a few days. The money the doctor gave them will last a while, a good long while, and it's something Ryan's uncomfortable with. No gods, no heroes, but in this moment this doctor is all but both. He saved Em's life, he gave them enough money to keep themselves safe and warm for weeks, even based solely on these actions the doctor may as well be a god to Ryan and Em, but that's not all the doctor can do for them.

Em's past, who he was before he was on the streets, has always been a mystery. Em doesn't know, and no matter how much time Ryan spends looking online in the library, he can't find any information, though that might be because Ryan has no idea where to start looking. The doctor knew Marshall though, he knew Em's former self. This doctor saved Em's life, and now he can give a portion lost to him for so long back. Em could find out all of the little details he's forgotten. He could finally learn his birthday, could finally know how old he is, where he was born. The little things that so many people take for granted, the little things Em doesn't know, that he can't even guess at. Ryan wants that information for Em. He wants it for himself too, but mostly he wants Em to know fully know who he is. This doctor is the key to unlocking Em's past, and if Em will accept his offer isn't something Ryan's sure of. It'd be good for him, at least Ryan thinks it would be. If Em knew who he was, he might feel better, but in all honesty knowing who Marshall was isn't going to change a lot. Even with his past revealed to him, Em's still going to get headaches, he's still going to forget most things, he's still going to have random mood swings, and bouts of all encompassing dizziness that leave him trembling in Ryan's arms.

Knowing wouldn't make Em whole, but it'd give him something back. This doctor can give Em something that Ryan never could. This doctor is far more capable of saving Em than Ryan is, but he wasn't there for Marshall. Ryan has many questions for this doctor, and the first is why was Em alone? Why wasn't there someone there for him? Where the fuck was everyone when he was in that hospital? Why didn't anyone want to save Marshall? They're burning questions, ones that Em no doubt wants to know the answers to, but there's also no doubts that Em will be afraid of the answers to those questions. He doesn't think Marshall was a good person. Ryan knows that Em thinks he was left alone in that hospital for a reason, he knows that Em is half-convinced that he forgot the life of Marshall, because Marshall was a terrible person, and nothing of him is worth remembering. Em might have a point, but Ryan isn't so sure. He's almost certain that there has to be a good reason for Em to have woken up alone after the accident. He can't believe that his Em wasn't always the sweetly contradictory creature he is now. Marshall has to have been a good person, because Em is. Then again, it might be that Em is a good person because he's forgotten Marshall. The whole thought process is painfully circular, it keeps Ryan awake far longer than he's happy about, but one good thing about insomnia is he gets to lie and watch Em sleep. There's little more reassuring that holding Em in his sleep. Em sleeps so well in Ryan's arms, he sleeps so deeply, so soundly, that there's a silly part of Ryan that puffs up in pride at how safe Em feels with him.

The first rays of sunshine wake Ryan from his hard won sleep. Em's curled up beside him, his head resting on the same pillow as Ryan's, his hand clamped in Ryan's shirt. He makes a soft noise as Ryan gently pries his fingers from the fabric, his eyelids twitching as though threatening to open.

"Shh, Em... Stay asleep." Ryan soothes him softly, pressing a kiss to the scar on his forehead. Whilst it's the day after Christmas, Ryan's certain that somewhere nearby will be open and selling food. Scurriers hate to miss the opportunity to make money, which is okay with Ryan, because he needs to stock up some, and maybe take a look to see if there are any help wanted ads in store windows. This motel room will act as point of contact for as long as the money will hold out, before it runs dry Ryan needs to find a job, with nowhere to call back to, scurriers will be less likely to employ him. Once Em's better, he too can look for work, and with both of them employed keeping this little room will be much easier. It's a simple plan, but Ryan has faith in it for that very reason. Simple works best in this world.

Ryan slips from the bed, and starts pulling on his clothes. He's going to have to get some more respectable looking attire if he's going to land a job, but it's not a major concern in that moment. The many layers of his homeless outfit will serve as a good barrier against the wind he can hear howling outside.

"You leaving?" Em's voice is quiet, he's sitting up in bed, but only just. He's pale and shaky, the dark rings under his eyes painfully visible even in the low light.

"I'm gonna go get us something to eat." Ryan forces a smile to his lips, despite the fact that Em looks like Death warmed up. He might have been saved, but it was too close. His being alive is nothing short of a Christmas miracle. Ryan can't help but want another miracle though. He wants Em to remembers this little room. It's incredibly unlikely, but there's a part of Ryan that'd like Em to remember that this is the motel room they first had sex in. The bed Em's in is the first place Ryan took him, the first place Em blew him is here, the first time they lay eating melted ice cream and watching Harry Potter was in this very place. It was a foolish little bit of sentimentality that led to Ryan to bringing them back here, but there are times he's sentimental, times he's wants to try and jog Em's terrible memory with places they've been before. Whilst it never works, Ryan keeps trying, keeps hoping to inspire some kind of memory in Em.

"Kay." Em smiles slightly, and flops back down. "I'm gonna go back to sleep." He mutters, and Ryan can feel a smile stretching his lips. There are no gods, no heroes in Ryan's world, for him there's only Em, and he means to be Em's hero if nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry ya'll had to wait this long, was dealing with some personal shit. Gonna upload more. Don't worry. Love ya'll.
> 
> Plus I'm gonna add some characters soon, might post another story too, stay tuned.


	9. Guardian Angel

The next few days Em spends lost in a thick haze of drowsiness. When he's not sleeping, he's lying curled up by Ryan, feeling his fingers gently stroking over his skin, and Ryan's heartbeat under his ear. He can't really remember much from that period of time, mostly just strange feverish dreams, and a pervasive sense of loneliness. It's strange that he should feel lonely, from what he can tell the only time Ryan's left this room is to get food. Despite never really been alone in this room, he can't help feeling lonely, even with Ryan lying beside him, Em feels painfully alone, and he can't offer a good reason as to why. He's not alone, he's with Ryan, but there's loneliness seeping through his bones, a hollow feeling he can't shake.

"You okay?" Ryan's voice cuts through the silence of the room, his hand squeezing Em's shoulder. Em's lying cradled against his chest, the sound of Ryan's slow steady heartbeat had been lulling Em into a doze, easing him out of his strange maudlin mood, and into sleep.

"I've no idea." Em mutters as honestly as he can. He truly has no idea if he is, or isn't okay. His mind is decidedly avoiding thinking about things he should. The slip of paper is still lying on the table by the bed, a little crinkled, and folded many times. Ryan's clearly been preoccupied with it whilst Em has been lying sleeping the immediate aftermath of the infection off.

"You look more awake." Ryan tilts Em's face up, a smile spreading over his lips as Em nuzzles against his hand. Em feels more awake, he actually feels like he'd be up to showering, and eating proper food, rather than the soup that Ryan's been feeding him for the last few days. "You want something to eat?"

"Ryan." Em forces himself up some more, moving so he's braced over Ryan, smiling down at him. "Kiss me?" Em thinks that request was given too tentatively. A hint of concern flits though Ryan's eyes before he tangles his hand in Em's hair, and pulls him down into a gentle kiss.

"You feeling better?" Ryan's hand cradles his face, his thumbs stroking over Em's eyebrows slowly. There's a look in Ryan's eyes, a calm focused look that doesn't waiver as he stares at Em. It's a look that Em feels at once vulnerable and safe under. When Ryan looks at him like that, Em knows that no harm will ever come to him. This look is the physical manifestation of Ryan's promise to stay with him; it's a look that Em places all of his faith in.

"I think I could stay awake for a few hours at least." Em grins, and kisses Ryan again. "I'm gonna shower... Brush my teeth if nothing else." Em's mouth tastes terrible, his teeth feel furry, and whilst he's kind of used to that, in this motel room, they have toothbrushes, toothpaste, and the water needed to facilitate good dental hygiene, not taking advantage of that would be remiss.

"You think you'll be able to stay upright long enough to get cleaned?" Ryan chuckles as Em slips from the bed. His knees feel strangely weak. All in all he feels shaky and frail like a newborn kitten. "I got you." Ryan's arms are around Em's waist quickly, holding him up, and close to his chest. "C'mon, I could use a shower too." Ryan's laugh is warm and soft in Em's ear, his breath far sweeter than Em's used to. It seems that Ryan's been making use of the ability to brush his teeth as often as he likes.

Though they shower together, it's mostly Ryan who's in charge of getting them actually clean. Em's a lot more tired than he'd thought, or at least a lot less coordinated than he'd hoped. The vague attempts he makes at washing Ryan end up in little more than accidentally tender caresses that have Ryan moaning, then cursing softly, and taking the washcloth from him. Ryan is more focussed on bathing than arousing, and whilst Em would definitely let Ryan have sex with him, Ryan's very careful when it comes to sex. He always wants Em to fully enjoy what's happening, and as such they not been together since long before the infection. Whilst Em understands Ryan's motivation, he wants to feel Ryan moving inside of him, wants the feeling of being wrapped up in, and filled with Ryan. Though perhaps not just yet, because he is perhaps still a little too frail for sex.

"Have you decided what you're going to do about the doctor?" Ryan murmurs in Em's ear as they stand under the warm spray of the shower. They're far past clean, but Ryan seems to enjoy staying under the water until its warmth is used up.

"I don't know... I don't think it'd be of any use." Em lets his head flop back against Ryan's shoulder, the warm water hitting him in the face. "He could tell me any old shit, and I'd have no way of proving him wrong."

"Don't you want to know something though? Simple stuff that we can confirm easily?" One of Ryan's hands is stroking down Em's stomach, his fingers straying far enough down to comb through the hair at Em's groin.

"It sounds to me like you're more interested than I am." Em moans softly as Ryan's hand cups his balls, squeezing them lightly.

"I'm interested, but I think it'd be good for you... I think that knowing even just a little would... I don't know how to say it, Em." Ryan presses a kiss to Em's temple, his hands moving to rest on Em's hips. "Even just a little information will give you something back, something you lost, something I can't give you."

"Ryan... I don't need any of that back... I'm happy the way we are." Em turns in Ryan's arms, and kisses him lightly. "But I'll talk to the doctor for you, I'll find out my birthday if nothing else." Ryan laughs, one of his hands coming up to tangle in Em's hair.

"Good, I'll finally know when to buy you a present." Ryan laughs once more, and kisses Em again. "C'mon, water's getting cold."

"If I call him, the doctor... If I talk to him, you'll-"

"I'm not going anywhere, Em. No matter what he says, no matter what you find out, I'm right here." Em nods slightly at Ryan's words, his eyes falling closed. "I love you, I'm not going anywhere." Em nods once more, and forces a bright smile to his lips, forces himself to look like he fully believes Ryan's words. It doesn't matter how many times Em hears them, there's always a little part of him that doesn't believe, a little part that thinks he'll be left alone once more.

Later that week, with Ryan out hunting for work, Em nervously makes the call to the doctor. The phone ringing sounds almost painfully loud in his ear. It rings so long that Em considers hanging up, assuming the doctor isn't home or is busy, but eventually he answers.

"Hello?" He sounds tired, and Em feels incredibly guilty for calling. Doctoring is hard work, with long hours, and he's probably roused the doctor from his hard-earned sleep. Talking to Em was more than likely an offer he made to be polite, not one he'd expected Em to take him up on.

"Dr Holton... It's uh..." Em isn't sure what to say next, he's not sure what name he should use.

"Marshall? Fuck... I didn't think you'd call." The doctor sounds relieved, ridiculously relieved, and Em finds himself feeling painfully uncomfortable. He's not sure what he'd expected from this but to feel relieved and almost happy wasn't it. "I'm glad you did. How are you? Has the infection come back? Have you been eating? Did you find somewhere to stay? You can-"

"I want to talk to you." Em interrupts the doctor before he finishes that sentence. Em has the terrible feeling he was going to offer to let Em stay with him, and the idea isn't something that sits comfortably with him. This doctor has already saved his life, and provided him with a roof over his head, actually staying in the man's home would be too much charity even for Em to accept.

"Okay." The doctor says plainly, and Em stalls for what to say next. "I'm free this afternoon, you can come to my place, or I can meet you somewhere else, somewhere neutral if you'd prefer."

"No, your place is okay." Em suddenly wishes he'd not said that, somewhere neutral would have been better, safer if nothing else.

"Alright, you have my address? You didn't lose the paper I gave you, did you?" The doctor laughs softly, and Em isn't sure what he's laughing at. Perhaps Marshall had had a habit of losing things, and the memory is amusing to the doctor.

"I have it... What time is okay?" Em fiddles with the slip of paper in his hands, staring down at the neat writing giving the doctor's address.

"Any time after one. Just knock on the door, I'll be in." There's a soft edge to the doctor's voice, a kindly tone that makes Em feel at once on edge and relaxed.

"Okay, after one." Em finds himself nodding pointlessly, knowing the doctor can't see him, but feeling the need to nod like a fool anyway.

"I'll see you then, Marshall."

"Eminem... Call me Em, I don't-"

"Sorry. I... Yeah, sorry, Em. I'll see you later?" Em's surprised that the doctor made that a question, but only a little. It seems that for all his relaxed tone the doctor is as nervous as Em, though he's much better at hiding it.

"Later, Dr Holton." Em hangs up, and flops on to the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The dingy little motel room is quiet, oppressively so, and he's not sure he feels comfortable in this little room. He wants Ryan to be there, but he's out looking for work. He's been mostly gone all week, and Em's been cooped up in this room alone. He understands, he knows that at least one of them needs a regular income to keep this room, but there's a part of him that misses waking up in Ryan's arms, a part of him that misses sitting on the streets by Ryan, talking aimlessly of the wonders of life. It's all pointless to think of though, because Ryan has decided that they're staying in this motel room for as long as possible. It'll be okay, Em will adjust to not spending as much time with Ryan, and he'll be there when he's not looking for work, or working at the job he'll eventually find. They'll manage. They managed on the streets, and they'll manage off of them.

"So who am I?" Em blurts the words out without really thinking about them. It's basically the one question he has, the one thing he needs to know. The doctor, DeShaun he needs to remember to call him that, looks at him blankly for a few seconds before chuckling softly, and shaking his head.

"I can't tell you that... I don't know who you are. Who you were, that I can help with, a little at least." There's painful little smile on his face, an expression that hurts to look at, and Em can't bear to meet the man's eyes.

"Fine, fine... Who was I?" Em sighs, glancing around the expensive looking apartment. He feels out of place here, had felt out of place shuffling up to the door in the first place. This isn't a place for someone like him. This is a place of wealth, of someone used to a comfortable life with soft beds, and hot water on demand.

"Who were you... Jesus... I don't even know where to begin, Marsh, Em... Sorry." DeShaun sighs, and steps away from the door, waving Em in. "Sit down... You want something to drink?" Em takes a seat on the couch, nervously picking at a loose thread on his sleeve, staring around the room. It's spartan, like someone had taken all the decoration down, and never put up anything to replace it, like a show house, somewhere to take people to give them a blank canvas to project what could be their home.

"My name... What's my name? There has to be more to it than just Marshall Mathers." Em looks nervously at the doctor as he takes a seat on the other couch. He looks as uncomfortable as Em feels, as though he'd hoped this would be easier, that Em would somehow magically remember something about him.

"Marshall. Marshall Bruce Mathers III." A slight smile spreads over DeShaun's lips, some tiny fond expression that Em hadn't expected, and isn't sure what it means. He's not sure if he was as bad at reading people before the accident as he is now, most expressions people wear are utterly bewildering to Em. The little social cues, and indicators that most people can read and understand are a foreign language to him. Ryan is the only exception to this, years of being in each other's company has taught Em how to read Ryan.

"Marshall Bruce Mathers III? Eww..." The little noise of distaste is out without being thought of, and Em turns his gaze down to the blandly beige carpet, feeling foolishly childish, and deeply embarrassed.

"Yeah. You always hated it." DeShaun laughs, and Em looks up at him. DeShaun's watching him carefully, his eyes unwavering in their focus on him, but as ever the emotion is utterly foreign to Em.

Em laughs nervously, he feels like there's more into him hating the name but doesn't ask just now, fussing with the loose thread once more. It's strange talking to this man, strange being in his home, strange to have finally learned his name.

"Still the same as ever, doody." DeShaun laughs, but something about what he just said sticks with Em, something about doody that he thinks he recognises.

"What?" The tone Em uses is slightly too sharp, and he feels a tad guilty for it, especially when DeShaun smiles awkwardly, looking away from Em, fussing with the cup he picked up from the table, taking a quick drink from it.

"Huh?" The awkwardly strained smile on DeShaun's face doesn't let up.

"What did you call me?" Em has the distinct feeling he should let this go, but he wants to know what that little slip, because it was clearly a slip, meant.

"You're not Marshall, so I called you Em." DeShaun finally looks in his direction, but he doesn't meet Em's eyes, instead he stares at the wall just behind him.

"No. You said something else... Something familiar." What DeShaun had said is slipping from Em's mind like a plastic bag in the breeze, and Em's attempts at wheedling more information on it fall flat as DeShaun shakes his head slightly, and sighs.

"No... No, I didn't..." A pain fills the doctor's eyes, an old, dark, brutal pain, and Em decides to let this go rather than bother him with it further, but he hadn't called him Em, he'd called him something else, something fonder, something Em vaguely remembers from before, at least he thinks it's from before, he can't be sure. There's very little Em can be sure about.

"When's my birthday?" Em changes the line of questioning, trying to expand on his meagre information about himself. He wants to be able to bring Ryan more information than just his name. It's strange, but the majority of the motivation for coming here is Ryan. Em wants to be able to provide some knowledge to Ryan to help him unravel the mystery that is Em's past; he wants the information for Ryan even more than he wants it for himself.

"Hmm?" The doctor seems distracted. He shakes his head once more, finally meeting Ems eyes again.

"My birthday, when is it? I think it must be October... I always feel like there's something important that happens in October, so I figure it must be my birthday." Em smiles at him. He's almost certain his birthday has to be in October. Every year he has the distinct feeling that something important to him happens then, and to him it makes sense that it'd be his birthday. A look of surprise flits over DeShaun's face briefly, and Em isn't sure why.

"Yeah." DeShaun takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, his eyes closing tightly for a second, before he looks at Em once more. "Your birthday's October seventeenth."

"Really?" he didn't expect to be accurate, but he feels like the doctor was important to him, yet he can't remember a single thing about the man. A low throbbing pain starts to building in his head, and Em automatically rubs at his scar. "Were we..." Em fidgets, he knows what he wants to ask, he knows that he wants to know the exact nature of his relationship with this doctor, but he's not sure how to ask the question. If he and DeShaun were lovers he wants to know as soon as possible, he wants to know so he can find out why he was left alone in that hospital.

"Were we what?" DeShaun seems to be overly focussed on the ceiling, and Em chances a glance up at it. The entire thing is covered in random doodles, odd little pictures that seem sorely familiar to Em. His head gives another throb of pain, and he looks away from the doodles, forcing them from his mind.

"Were we friends?" It's a far milder version of the question Em wants to ask. The evasive way that DeShaun is acting, the odd awkwardness between them, it all leads Em to think there might have been more than friendship between them. Even if they were lovers, Em doesn't remember, and he's sure he doesn't want to dwell on the idea too much. If they were lovers, something must have broken their relationship before the accident, DeShaun doesn't seem like the type to abandon people.

"We were. We stopped speaking after we graduated from college." DeShaun sounds unhappy with his answer, and Em thinks that there must be more to it, but whatever it is DeShaun's clearly not keen on sharing. It's most likely that they were lovers in college, but something happened that lead to their relationship falling apart, something big, something that left Marshall all alone. It's a good explanation for why Em was alone when he woke up, there was no one left in Marshall's life to dote on him in a hospital bed. It's a neat answer, but it doesn't feel quite right to Marshall, and the more he thinks on it the more his head throbs.

"Why?" Em tries to prompt more out of DeShaun wanting some clarity to try to clear the headache he can feel building, but DeShaun merely shakes his head.

"It doesn't matter, Em." He says softly. "You want some tea?" He stands, and leaves the room with his empty cup. Em follows him, wanting to be away from the doodles on the ceiling, and the thoughts of his past relationship with DeShaun. He's hoping for some piece of information to click with him, and for all of his memories to fall into place, but it's not likely to happen. "How's your back?" The doctor asks softly as he flicks the kettle on, not looking at Em.

"It's okay... A little red still." Em mutters, and the doctor turns to him, his eyes narrowed.

"Let me see. I don't want you getting a secondary infection." His tone is coolly professional, his demeanour entirely changed. "You're still too thin... Have you been eating? I know that good food is expensive, but getting the right balance is very important for your recovery, Em... I don't want you think it's charity, but I've some stuff for you to take with you. Nothing too fancy, I promise." He laughs softly, and all Em can do is nod slightly, and fidget under his earnest gaze. "Turn around, let me see the infection site." Em finds himself complying with the orders. It's far easier to handle being around this doctor when he's being a doctor.

"I don't... I... Thank you... The food, the money you gave me... This. Thank you, DeShaun." Em mutters, and behind him he can feel the doctor's body heat far more keenly than the press of his fingers against Em's lower back.

"It's nothing, doody..." DeShaun's fingers linger just a little too long, and Em isn't sure what he should do. If he steps away, the doctor's kindness might run dry, but if he pushes further than just touching Em's healing back then Em's not entirely sure what to do. "Well, it looks like it's healing nicely." The closeness stops being a problem quickly enough. The doctor steps away from Em, and washes his hands quickly, keeping his back turned as Em rights his clothes. "Your head... Do you take anything for the pain?"

"Pain? How did-"

"You were rubbing the scar..." DeShaun fetches another cup, and adds some tea leaves to it. "Here, have some tea with me." He smiles slightly as he pours water into the cup, and drags a cookie jar over, opening it, insisting that Em takes one, then another, and another after that.

They talk for a while, the topics safe, and bland. DeShaun telling tales of the hospital, and a couple of little anecdotes from their time together in college. Those little stories made Em want to remember that time so badly. It sounded like they'd had the best time together, and it makes him wonder even more what happened to make them fall out and not talk to each other. Eventually though, Em feels like he should be making a move. He's taken up the doctor's entire afternoon, and he should be going back to the motel. Ryan will be back soon, and Em misses him more than he can really express, even to himself. He doesn't want to miss time he could be spending with Ryan indulging in nothing more than eating cookies, drinking tea, and wasting DeShaun's time.

"I should get going... I think I've troubled you long enough." Em smiles awkwardly at the doctor. A look of something at once guilty and offended comes over DeShaun's face.

"You've not troubled me. I'm sorry I've not been very helpful, Em. I wasn't sure what you'd want to know, so I didn't have anything prepared. My next day off is a week tomorrow... Come over? Same time... I'll look some stuff out, some things that might be interesting." A slight smile spreads over DeShaun's lips. He looks hopeful that Em will accept his offer, and Em thinks that he will.

"My signature, could you find my signature?" Em offers a slight smile to DeShaun, getting an oddly high-pitched bark of laughter.

"You wanna try forging your own cheques? I'll look, Em... I'm sure if nothing else I've got a handwriting sample somewhere... You used to write me the strangest notes when we were in college. You'd leave them in the weirdest places." DeShaun laughs, and Em stares at him blankly.

"Still can't believe I went to college?" Em can't even begin to process the idea of himself being in higher education. He's surprised that the information the doctors imparted to him seems to be sticking, but once he's outside Em intends to write it all down on the little notepad he stole from the motel room just in case.

"Well, you did." DeShaun smiles fondly, nostalgia colouring his expression. "If it wasn't for college, we'd have never met." His smile grows, clearly lost in his memories. Em wonders if he remembered would he look back on those times as fondly as the doctor. He thinks he might, but that might be wishful thinking on his part.

"I don't remember." Em mumbles awkwardly, and DeShaun's smile falls away. "Next week should be okay with me. Will I call before I come over?"

"Em... Where are you staying? I can take you." There's a surprising amount of concern in DeShaun's expression. The sort of level of concern Em's only ever seen on Ryan's face.

"I can walk. It'll be fine." Em forces a bright smile to his lips, and the doctor looks torn between insisting, and letting Em do as he wishes.

"I... Alright. Here, before I forget." The doctor goes over to the big fridge, and pulls out a large bag, thrusting it towards Em. "Fruit, vegetables that you can eat raw..." He pauses, and stares at Em, his eyes roaming over Em's face quickly. "Fuck... I'm so..." The doctor looks close to tears, and Em takes the bag from him, wanting to break the awkward moment he's in no way equipped to deal with. The bag is heavy, the weight almost making Em want to take the doctor up on his offer of a ride back to the motel, but he wants the time it'll take to walk to try to make sense of what he's learned today. He wants to pick out the information that might interest Ryan. It's strange.

"It'll be okay, DeShaun." Em pats his shoulder once, a weak smile on his lips. He's no idea if it will be okay, or what it actually is, but DeShaun seems to take some solace in Em's words. "I'll see you next week?" Em calls as he leaves the kitchen.

"Next week, doody." The reply is soft, one Em almost doesn't hear as he takes one last look at the ceiling. He's sure he knows those doodles, and he's sure he knows the name the doctor called him three times, but he's no idea from where.


	10. I'm hopin' things look up, but there ain't no job openings

Perception is a skewed thing in the world of the scurriers. For them what they perceive is more important than what is true. As a member of the homeless looking like a member of the homeless, Ryan would have been thrown out of this nice, clean store. The perception of him clad in thick layers, with spots of duct tape here and there to keep the cold out, was that he would try to shoplift, that he'd be trouble in one way or another. Today, however, he's not dressed as member of the homeless. Today he's dressed in a thrift store suit that he picked up cheap, a suit that in a rare stroke of luck fits him well, and is comparatively new. His shoes are shiny, and his hair's a slightly neater than normal fluffy mess. Today, Ryan looks like a scurrier, and the other scurriers are treating him as such. The cashier smiles at him, the other customers are polite, and it's strange, horribly strange. In this moment, Ryan is deceiving them all into thinking he's one of them when he's not. The reality is Ryan's nothing more than a homeless guy in a second-hand suit, but perception is more important than truth, cold hard facts have nothing on what scurriers perceive.

The walk back to the motel always feels strangely like a walk of shame. He's not managed to find a job yet, and each time he goes back to the room without one he feels a little more like he's letting Em down. He might be trying to be Em's hero, but Ryan's never been able to save himself. It's nothing more than foolish arrogance to believe that he can save Em, yet he won't stop trying. Em inspires the need to be more than he is in Ryan, the need to be a saviour, a protector. It's a need Ryan wants to fulfil again, and again, never heeding the cold hard fact that needs can never be fully satisfied. For Em Ryan will gladly attempt the impossible.

"Hey!" Em's always there waiting for him, always wearing a smile, always wrapping him up in a warm embrace, always being Ryan's home. He's never felt as whole as when he's with Em. Life is a riddle, and Ryan's certain that the solution to that riddle is his relationship with Em. With Em by his side, it feels like he could solve any problem life chooses to throw his way.

"Hello." Holding Em is like finding the toy in the bottom of a cereal box, wrapping his arms around Em's body is like being handed a first place trophy, and Ryan never tires of it. "You get up to anything exciting today?" There's a bag on the sideboard in the room, a big plastic bag that looks full, and Ryan's not sure what Em could have been out buying. The bag itself is printed with some unknown store's logo, something that looks expensive, which is totally at odds with Em's nature. Ryan wanders over to the bag, and starts rooting through it. "Humus?" He holds up a small tub, and Em shakes his head, a wry smile on his lips.

"I went to see the doctor today. We had a chat, he gave me humus." Em laughs, and comes over to Ryan, plastering himself against Ryan's back. "I like you in a suit... You look classy." Em starts pressing soft little kisses to the back of Ryan's neck. He seems far stronger than he has over the last few days, far more awake, and more likely to stay that way, but still delicate, still fragile. As nice as Em's kisses are, Ryan knows he's not recovered enough for Ryan to return those more exploratory pecks.

"Classy, but still unemployed. Carrot sticks, celery... I don't even know what this is." Ryan holds up another little tub, the scrawl on the lid is smudged making it hard to read. "So, did the doctor say anything interesting?" Ryan piles the food back in the bag, and turns in Em's arms, drawing him into a carefully delicate kiss.

"I wrote the important stuff down." Em grins, and fishes a small sheet of paper from his pocket. His large, carefully formed handwriting is easy to read, but strangely young looking. The perception of this person who wrote the words on this piece of paper would be that they were a child writing in with their best letters, not of a fully-grown man.

"October seventeenth, huh Marshall?" Ryan chuckles, and Em pulls an ugly face.

"Don't call me that." He snaps, stepping away from and around Ryan to grab the humus and carrot sticks out of the bag. "DeShaun told me that I never liked my name... Marshall Bruce Mathers... I don't think I'm a Marshall." Em grins as he sits on the bed. "Grab the celery, and come tell me about your day." Em pats the bed beside him. "I've missed you." The perception of how Em said that is that it's little more than a flippant comment designed to make Ryan happy, but the truth is that Em meant it earnestly. Em worries about being left alone, Ryan knows he does, and whilst the last thing he wants is to leave Em for any length of time, he needs to find a job to keep them housed. Being on his own is something Em's going to have to get used to. Ryan may have to leave for work, but he'll always return home to Em. His being alone won't be permanent, Ryan won't let it be.

"I missed you too." Ryan grabs the celery, and the unknown tub, determined to find out what's inside it. "Today... Well, I bought a cell phone." Em raises an eyebrow, and Ryan shakes his head slightly. "Pay as you go, it's cheap. I thought it'd be a good idea."

"Yeah, probably." Em concedes, and starts eating the carrot stick that he'd dunked in the humus.

"I put in some applications at a few stores nearby, a restaurant, and every bar I walked past... It's all a matter of waiting now." Ryan's never really been a big fan of celery, but the humus is pretty good, and covers the odd taste of the vegetable well enough, so he keeps eating it, not yet brave enough for the unknown tub. "So, your birthday, your name, and some humus... Did you get anything else out of the good doctor?"

"That I went to college." Em mumbles, and lies down, his hand rubbing at the scar on his forehead. "And a headache." Em laughs quietly, and Ryan reaches over to stroke his hair. "I don't remember anything about him, but he remembers me, Ryan... He knows me, or at least he knew me when I was in college, and I don't even know what the fuck I was studying." Em's eyes drift closed, and Ryan shifts the food off the bed onto the table beside it, then lies down beside Em, cradling him close. "I had to have had a goal, a reason for studying something, but I don't even know what my major was... I had to have been smart. I had to have had money, a house, a family... I was a real person once, Ryan, and what am I now?" Em snuggles against him tightly, his face pressed against Ryan's chest firmly. "Now, I only just found out my name. I only just found out what day I was born, but I didn't think to ask what year. I... All I have is you." Em sounds slightly awed as he mumbles that last statement. It would be easy to perceive the all I have is you as an insult, but that perception would be wrong. All I have is you is an endearment, the highest endearment Em can offer. All he has, all he wants, all he needs is Ryan. Em wants Ryan to be his hero, so Ryan tries. It's all perception, honest perception of cold hard facts, there's no deception, no skewing of reality between them.

"Will you talk to him again?" Ryan kisses Em's hair, stroking his back over the thick layers of clothing Em's wearing. He's still dressed like a member of the homeless despite their tenuous housing, but he's not really had the time or energy to go pick out more scurrier style clothing.

"No... Well maybe..." Em sighs, and shakes his head suddenly. "Yes, next week." His tone is oddly firm, and Ryan pulls away from him slightly so he can see Em's face. "I'm going to talk to him next week. I'll ask what year I was born in... I want to know how much older than you I am." He smiles slightly. Ryan shakes his head at him, and presses a quick kiss to his scar.

"I don't care if you're my sugar daddy, Em." Ryan chuckles, and pulls Em in close once more. "Did he... Did he say how he knew you? Why he wasn't at the hospital?"

"I said." Em scoffs softly, and rolls his eyes. "We meet in college, we were roommates. Something happened... We had a falling out, and didn't talk after graduation." Em sounds like there's something on his mind about this, but it might be merely perception, because there's always something on Em's mind, and he'll share when he thinks it's important.

"So I don't need to worry about him stealing you away?" Ryan laughs, and Em snorts disdainfully, shaking his head.

"No one could steal me away, Ryan, no one." The conviction in Em's voice is astounding, and Ryan can't think of any way to reply to that comment.

The next morning Ryan's back out looking for work, leaving Em with a soft kiss, and a promise to check back in around lunchtime. Ryan's no idea what Em intends to do with his day. He'll be on his own the whole time, and there's a part of Ryan's that's concerned that Em'll get lonely, but there's nothing to be done. Ryan needs to find work, and Em's a fully-grown man.

He'd checked the money before he'd left, and the roll of bills is sorely depleted. Finding work is a priority, there's not enough money to last much longer even with the deal he'd managed to strike up with the hotel management. Ryan needs to find a job by the end of the week, it's imperative, but that day he returns empty handed. The next day passes much the same until it's Thursday, leaving only tomorrow, Friday, as the last day. They've enough money to cover the next week, and that's it. Tomorrow Ryan needs some job, any paying job to keep them afloat.

That night, Ryan curls up by Em, and worries about their situation, worries about money, about finding a job, about keeping Em safe, about Em in general. All evening Em had been quiet, and distant. His mind is clearly preoccupied with the little information he gained from the doctor. Ryan understands that learning even a little about himself is confounding for Em, but he wishes Em was more at peace with this sliver information about himself. He seems unable to reconcile the fact that the information about Marshall is also about Em. Ryan's no idea how to help him, no idea how to help meld the two together, so all he does is lie holding Em close, stroking his back, wishing to be more helpful to him. It hurts knowing that there's nothing Ryan can do to help Em with this. It's a problem Em has to face on his own, and the only person who can help him is the doctor. This isn't something Ryan is in any way able to be of use in, and it's infuriating. He always wants to be the one to help Em, but when it comes to his past, Ryan's beyond worthless.

That morning after leaving the motel room, with Em still asleep, Ryan heads to the library to start trawling through online jobsites. He's not hopeful of finding something on the Internet, but he figures it won't hurt to look. There's never any harm in just looking. The cell chirps suddenly, and Ryan answers after checking the number.

"Hello?"

"Is this Mr Ryan Montgomery?" The voice on the other end of the line is slightly boyish but raspy. The accent isn't familiar to Ryan, and he doesn't recognise the number, but he supposes it's one of the numerous places he's applied to for a job.

"It is. How can I help?" It feels like he asked the wrong question, because the other person laughs, a grating little sound that has Ryan clenching his teeth.

"I'm calling to invite you down for an interview." The person says, and then laughs again. "Sorry, I should have said earlier, I'm Stokeley Goulbourne,from The Members Only nightclub." Ryan's eyes narrow as he tries to remember which of the many nightclubs and bars that he's applied to that one is. "The gay bar?" He apparently had been silent too long, and he can feel the back of his neck heating up in embarrassment.

"Yeah, of course I remember." Ryan mumbles, wishing he'd made better notes of where he'd left his pitifully small resume.

"Great! Then I'd like for you to come down as soon as you can. Your resume said you were available immediately, and were bar trained." There's an awkward pause, and Ryan's not sure how to break it when it lasts a little longer than he's comfortable with. "I won't lie, this isn't an interview. It's a hiring. We're screwed, the last bar tender didn't work out, and we're booked for a big wedding party tonight, and we're basically taking on everyone. There's no guarantee of a job after tonight, but there's at least one solid paycheque in it for you. Come down as soon as you can, and we'll start training you on the cocktails."

"I'll be there by twelve." Ryan's already on his feet, and leaving the library. One paycheque isn't much, but if he does a good job, he might get hired permanently, and even if he doesn't it's something else to add to the resume, as well as some more money to add to the pitifully small amount he and Em have left.

Ryan arrives at the club a little after eleven-thirty. The place is brightly lit, the walls painted a dark grey, the floor black, though the elevated dance podiums are starkly white with gleaming silver cages on top. At night with all the bright lights switched off, it must be a very dark, but Ryan supposes that's what scurriers like in their nightclubs. It's easier to persuade people into the perception you want them to have when they can't really see you in the first place.

"Mr Goulbourne? Hello!" The voice from the phone greets Ryan as he wanders through the seemingly empty club. "C'mon in, and we'll get you fitted up for a uniform." The face to go with the voice isn't familiar to Ryan, but he's not been paying too much attention to the faces of the people he's been dropping resumes off with. The man's grinning at him, gesturing for Ryan to follow him. "So, once you're all in the gear, we'll get started on teaching you the speciality cocktails. Most people order the normal stuff... We've a big sex on the beach market." He laughs, and Ryan wonders if he's expecting an answer in amongst his rambling. "But, there's a lot who really go for the house specials... The Cerberus is very popular, and the Very Rare shot always sells well. It's a layered shot, so you've gotta be careful, can't let the layers be all droopy." He laughs again, and Ryan bites back a noise of frustration. This man is clearly fond of the sound of his own voice.

"Mr Goulbourne?" interrupts before he can keep talking.

"Huh?" He holds open a door, waving Ryan through it into what looks like a locker room. "What is it?"

"I'm just wondering when I start-"

"And when you finish no doubt? And it's ... Mr Goulbourne too-"

"Professional?" Another voice cuts in, a smooth baritone that's laced with amusement. "You'll have to excuse Stokeley. He's rather fond of the sound of his own voice." The new comer sticks his hand out, and Ryan looks him over quickly. He's bald, deep brown eyes, and built like the proverbial brick shithouse. "I'm Joe. Joe Budden, co-owner of this place." Ryan takes Joe's hand, and shakes it quickly once.

"Ryan, one-night only but hoping for more bar tender in this place." Ryan laughs uneasily, wishing he'd said something a little smoother, or at least less like a haplessly cheesy chat-up line.

"Hoping for more, eh?" Joe smirks, and Ryan glances away. He'd hoped this guy would have let him away with that slip, but apparently not. "Well, I guess we'll see based on your performance tonight." He turns away from Ryan to Stokeley , a look of mild annoyance crossing his face. "Where's his uniform?"

"I was just going to ask his size, Joe." Stokeley sneers sharply, and Ryan feels desperately uncomfortable with their squabbling, but he needs this job, he needs it for as long as possible, so he's going to have to deal with these two.

"Those shoulders definitely need a large, that ass too." Joe chuckles, and Ryan clears his throat.

"Uh... I'll help you look?" He offers to Stokeley . Surprisingly, all Stokeley does is nod, and lead Ryan over to a closet. 

Once he's kitted out in the right attire, Stokeley leads Ryan back through to the bar. The few cocktails he shows Ryan are fairly complex, but Ryan's determined to remember them. This is the first, and only job that's called him back, and if they need someone long-term Ryan intends to make sure it's him they keep. A few other one night only staffers arrive a little after three, and Stokeley seems to revel in having a larger audience for his ramblings. Joe remains silently pottering around the club, his eye flickering over to Ryan every so often. There's an edge to his gaze that makes Ryan feel fidgety. There's a heat in those eyes that Ryan isn't sure if he likes being directed at him. It all makes him think of Em lying in a motel bed alone. Thoughts Ryan needs to chase from his mind so he can focus on listening to Stokeley's increasingly meandering orientation speech.

At about five o'clock, Stokeley announces that they have two hours to go grab something eat. Ryan's sure he wouldn't be able to make it to the motel and back in that time, but he's also sure he wants to talk to Em if he can't see him. There's one number saved in the cheap cell phone he bought, and that's the motel's reception. He dials, and requests to be put through to the room he shares with Em.

"Hello?" Em sounds understandably confused, and Ryan closes his eyes trying to picture the expression on Em's face.

"Hey baby." Ryan murmurs quietly. He's sitting in a cheap little restaurant near the nightclub, a plate of the cheapest meal on the menu in front of him, and a glass of tap water, but it's nowhere near as interesting as hearing Em's softly confused voice.

"Ryan? What's wrong? Why aren't you home?" A smile spreads over Ryan's lips at Em calling the motel room home. That's the only reason he's working in this bar, that's the only reason he's going to put on the silly uniform and flirt his ass off to make the customers buy more drinks from him than anyone else. Em deserves a home, and whilst for now it's a crappy little motel room with more significance than Em realises, one day it'll be an apartment, then maybe a real house. Ryan intends to work until they've secured a home they can be both be proud of, one day the little lean-to shack by a park wall they slept in will be nothing but a hazy nightmare, not the reality of a few weeks ago.

"I've got a job. It's o-"

"A job? Ryan, that's great! I'm proud." Em sounds genuinely proud of him, and Ryan can feel a beaming grin stretching his lips.

"It's not much, just bartending for the night, but it's a start." Ryan opens his eyes once more to look at his food. It's not the most appetising looking fare, but he needs to eat it so he can make it through the night.

"It's a job though, so it's a good start. You'll be back late, won't you?" Em trails off, a heavy silence coming from over the phone for a few seconds. "I'll make sure to keep your side of the bed nice and warm for when you're home." He sounds like he's forcing himself to sound upbeat, and Ryan forces his mouthful of food down.

"Em... I'll be home, you know that." Ryan keeps his voice soft and even, filling it with reassurance, but Em's not an easy creature to placate sometimes. There are times when his fears get the best of him. Em's fear of being abandoned kept Ryan from accepting offers of overnight work from johns when they'd been on the streets. His fear of being abandoned kept Ryan from searching too far for food when Em had been too sick to walk. Em's fear of being abandoned keeps Ryan close to him, but it's not a tether, it's not a cage trapping Ryan, rather it's a fear that lets Ryan indulge his own fear of not being enough. His whole life he's been painted with the perception that he's not enough. Not smart enough, not clean enough, not attractive enough, not good enough, but for Em he's everything. For Em Ryan's perfect, and Ryan clings to Em because of that.

"You said for the night? Do they only need you tonight? Isn't there the chance of any more nights?" Em seems to be forging ahead with trying to hide his anxiety, and Ryan knows better than to push him. If you push Em to open up, he'll clam up instead, and won't say anything for days.

"Maybe. I'll need to be impressive tonight though, so I'm worrying about it first." Ryan laughs, and the laugh Em gives in returns is halfway believable.

"You're always impressive, Ryan. No worries there. When do you start?" There's a rustling sound over the phone, and Ryan supposes that's Em opening something to eat, probably a pot of instant noodles, which sound about as appetising as Ryan's plate of vaguely recognisable mush.

"Seven sharp. I'm gonna finish up eating, and then go. Be asleep when I get home, okay?" Ryan takes another bite of food, washing it down with some water.

"Ryan... I'm always asleep." Em laughs, and Ryan smiles slightly to himself.

"You're still healing, Em. Sleep is very important to your recovery." Em scoffs at Ryan's words, a low unimpressed sound.

"I'm sick of being asleep. You'll be tired tomorrow though, so I guess I'll take advantage of my sleepiness to get to cuddle you all day." Em chuckles to himself softly, and Ryan laughs along with him, pretending to ignore the slightly forced edge to Em's laugh.

"Like I'd let you not cuddle me all day." Ryan finishes up his food, and glances at the clock on the wall opposite. He should head back to the club; it's almost time to start his first, and hopefully not only, shift.

"Have fun at work, honey." This statement Ryan perceives as being given more honestly than several other things Em's said in this phone call, he does at least really want Ryan to enjoy his work.

"I'll try." Ryan downs the glass of water, and stands, tossing a few bills down to cover the cheque, and a modest tip for the waitress. "I should get going. Get some more rest. I'll be home before you know it."

"Yeah... Not likely, Ryan." The perception of that comment has Ryan aching to be at home, longing to bundle Em up in his arms, but that's impossible. He needs to be where he is, he needs this job. "I'll be waiting to hear all about your first day."

"I gotta go, baby. I love you, and I'll be home soon as I can." Ryan dodges his way across the street, pausing outside the nightclub.

"I know... Good luck, and Ryan, I love you too." There's no way to misperceive Em's final words. There's no way to skew them, not that Ryan would try though, because there's no way to skew cold hard facts.


End file.
